The River Between Two Oceans
by quakeapples
Summary: Have you ever woken up and felt like there is something you should remember from that horrible, scary dream you just had, but you could not remember whatever that was for the life of you? Well, that happens. I just wish it didn't happen to me when I woke up into the 3rd Shinobi War. [Self-Insert/OC/Reincarnation/Slow-burn/Monthly Updates] Synopsis are boring! Read for more! :)
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I do not own Naruto or the materials associated with the manga/anime franchise. What I do own is this story in part or whole, the plot and set-up of the plot, and original characters that came with it.

* * *

 **The River Between Two Oceans  
** Prologue

"Do you believe in _reincarnation_?"

Well, I don't.

I find comfort in the idea of not being able to live through multiple lifetimes, in not living over and over and over again, and to just live within the fullest extent of a single lifetime. I want to live through one simple lie and to die from only that, never to return to live within another. I wish to enjoy the time that's given to me – limited and constricted though it may be – because I want to appreciate it better. I wish this only because I have been none the wiser during the cusp of my adulthood and now I want to be much wiser, less reckless to slip into unnecessary bouts of regrets and self-shame. And being able to live a single life is the best enough for me. I don't want to keep re-living a life full of mistakes and pain and suffering. I think once is more than enough for all that load of crap.

But this isn't the answer the man wants—definitely not what he needs to hear, too.

His life, much like that exquisite Persian rug he once stood on in his old office at the investment bank in downtown Tokyo, was pulled away from under his own two feet. Now he's homeless. He's jobless and being without a salary meant that there is no home he could maintain, no money to buy food or drinks with, or a car for him to drive his wife – now ex – around. Now he's family-less. He's lost the honour to keep his responsibilities and his wife had left him, and with his little baby boy too. He's forgotten the cheer in her smile or the face of her love, and there's no way he's ever getting them back. Now he sees them everywhere, especially in the eyes of heartless strangers who walked past him during the morning rush hour or the pitiful gaze of the helpless on a cold winter's night.

He looks at me now with empty, dark eyes—hollow, like his own life. He's an empty can, filled to the brim with nothing but bouncy particles of air – each representing a dream he once had – and every day, he could feel each of them dissipate within the can itself.

I can't tell this man the truth of my answer.

"Yes, I _believe_ in reincarnation," so I lied and dressed it all up with a smile. "I believe we'll be given a second chance to rewrite our lives that way…"

He smiles back. A fleeting sense of relief is obvious in the twinkling glints of his black irises.

I shiver.

"That'll be nice, wouldn't it!" he chuckles on as if he could taste reincarnation in the air itself and tries to eat as much of it while he still can. "I might be richer than I am now. I'll be able to go home, kiss my wife and feed her and the kids. We'll have servants who'll run the errands for us worry for us and we'll be happy. We'll die together and die happy!"

How do I tell him that that was once possible? How do I tell him it was still possible to be happy with just trying? How can I possibly convince him that it was all his own choice?

I can't. I can't say for sure.

I am happy to live with trying to scale a mountain a thousand times the height of Everest. I am happy with not making it with the overachievers, the lucky ones who could finish the hike and make their mark on the peak, but those ones never realise nor appreciate the journey more than its destination. But I am the one who's happy with the mere trials of my journey to a destination that I couldn't even reach. I am still happy and satisfied with just that—to reach the mere contentment of my own goals. I can't convince him that he shouldn't cut his cloth to someone else's body, to wear a suit measured and made for others. I can't convince him that his own happiness in life was something he has to build for himself.

What do I know, right? I'm just a lousy 25-year-old girl who wanted nothing to do with this life. Who preferred to die now rather than living a life where I may be scarring others and scarring myself, and getting others to scar me.

But maybe _that_ is the point of living.

Maybe we live on the edge without even knowing and the idea is to see how much we are aware of what we do and to learn how to stop doing something bad or keep doing something good. Like now.

Maybe a lie is bad or so is the truth. Maybe the truth is as equally painful as a lie, but maybe that's the something good I have to keep doing, something which he has to learn to accept as I have. It's like a dose of bitter cough syrup or that prick of an injection needle stuffed with morphine.

While I still want to, I look to the homeless man.

"But you know," I tread carefully, "Maybe life's better like this. At least you get to witness and experience first-hand the sincere kindness of others whilst the rest of humanity degrades itself. At least your presence in the world manages to allow my humanity to shine through my own prejudices. I know it's painful to be here right now, but if you're still alive there must be a reason for that… Maybe you need to build that reason for yourself and live on, not regretting what you cannot change."

I watch his face change.

From that look of delight, he was distraught—for a moment. Then he laughs. He nods. His eyes shifty. His cheeks red.

"Maybe!" he bellows.

I startle.

"Maybe we live in all the maybes in the world!"

I slowly smile.

"Maybe we're wrong, maybe we're exactly right! Maybe the sky isn't blue, maybe the sun isn't really shining!"

I laugh too.

"Maybe we're supposed to just make the best out of all the maybes," he pauses as he shifts his gaze into the distance as if he was blinded by something—probably the faces of his families, as much as his memories allow him to recall. "Maybe I saw my wife giving me food once. Maybe I saw my son in university and he handed me some change. Maybe we all knew who was then. Maybe we could've been more."

"But it might be too late, wouldn't—"

"Or maybe it isn't."

"What was it they always say about life again? That it's all about the choices you make for yourself."

He nods quietly.

"It's not as selfish as you think…"

"No, I understand it perfectly. Sometimes I wish I knew it sooner or… I just accepted it and lived with it. Instead, I keep delaying it and delaying it. I keep pushing that thought away, thinking it would weaken me or made me a more foolish man than before. But I was wrong… I should face it—take it by the horns and face it like a man."

I nod. I'm relieved somehow.

I don't regret it. I don't regret this painful reality.

"Sorry, I lied earlier," I tell him nervously. "I don't believe in reincarnation—I'm just too busy believing in now! This life and this time are all I have left to use to the best of its purpose. That's what my choices in life are trying to build: something that I can be proud of now, not before or later. I don't want to live hanging on to the belief that my second chance happens only after I die, but that it's what I make of it while I live and breathe."

The man nods. "Yes, yes. And maybe you're right, kiddo! I need to start thinking and living like that. That's the way I should be! Maybe I could… even pick myself up!"

"That's right!"

"Life hasn't given up on me… I shouldn't be giving up on it, too."

I smile again, finally satisfied with our seemingly meaningless conversation.

I glance at his supplies and once I was sure he had everything, I continue with my recce. I make sure everyone else that I bumped into had the lunchbox we prepared from homeless shelter.

Ueno Park is wonderful during this time in October. There is a mystifying beauty in its nature when the weather's just right like this, especially where the end of autumn meets the start of winter. The smell of dried leaves and cracked tree bark still lingers in the air, like cinnamon sprinkles and coffee foam blending together, and then a gush of blistering cold wind rushes in from the sea, reminding you of cold sushi take-outs. Not exactly the kind of scent combination you'd reckon for lunch or dinner, but it reminds you of where you are currently standing.

This oriental port is a grand mixture of concrete, steel and grass—a melting pot of advanced technology and graceful tradition, melded together through an almost melancholic adversity. This fragile city is the heart of Japan, its hardy people are the blood that scour through its vein-like streets and alleyways. Tokyo is indeed still bustling with people, which is not a surprise considering it was only 8 in the evening.

I still see people with paperwork and computer strains in their faces as they bark out into the streets—some diving underground to catch the train whilst most heading out to a bar or restaurant for some cold sôchu or warm beer. They may not look the same or know each other, but their destination and reason unites them. I know that feeling, that hive-minded hypnosis as if you knew from the moment you were born that you are small fish in a big school and you gather around your own kind and move along the tide in this together oneness.

I feel that way when I look at these volunteers who came with me from the shelter—they were all mostly Japanese of course, but I see a handful of foreigners. There was that guy from France, the ladies from Poland, two other guys from America and another girl, a fellow Asian like me. We're all part of an internship programme that brings its volunteers all around the world to combat poverty, hunger and homelessness. I joined it because the institution's goals and objectives meet my own, especially when it comes to this cruel but opulent world. These volunteers have all the most important and outrageously intriguing reasons for doing what they do, but I'm probably the one who's least interesting of all.

If you haven't noticed, I'm quite cynically depressing and somewhat suicidal.

My parents are happily married – in case you're wondering – but I never felt I truly belonged within the family. Long story short, I think it was a communication problem that spanned across generations and generations, and by then, it was a fire too hot to burn off with just water. Before I knew it, I was affected by the same problem and I guess I just never expressed myself well enough. Then I became isolated from my family, I was a loner at school, I started to cry myself to sleep over the littlest of shits and then there was that strange urge to burn things. My grandparents were the only ones who noticed my odd and troubling behaviour, even though they knew perhaps they had played a part in it—but what's more important was that they tried. They tried to make things better, even when it was too late, but I wasted their effort when I starting to cut myself back in high school. By then, they died.

It was my sisters who urged me to change for them, in their memory and for their sakes, and so I did. I stopped thinking about myself and began to pay enormous attention to others. Why did I choose Japan, you ask? Well, my grandmother lived through the years of Japanese occupation and spoke a little (or maybe a lot) of Japanese. That's why I'm here to help the poor, the hungry and the homeless. Because of my grandparents. For my dear grandma.

As selfish as this may sound, I started thinking more about others before I think of myself—for _my_ own sake. It's a paradox, really. Is it selfish that I am unselfish to others for myself? It's really strange.

"Over here!" I turn at the shout.

An old man raises his hands, one held an empty lunchbox and the other was holding an orange.

"What's wrong?" I ask as I approach him.

"These oranges are really fresh," he starts and that snicker on his face was odd. Misplaced. Almost _ethereal_. "A friend of mine loves oranges. Say, little missy, have you got any of them left? He lives in that tunnel over there—"

I follow his finger and look to a police cordon up ahead, down the grey concrete footpath lined with sakura trees—now it was all leafless, of course. There's a yellow tape that surrounds a manhole, but it wasn't a normal manhole, obviously. It appears that there is now a sinkhole there following the row of earthquakes that's been happening before I got here in Tokyo. I catch the glance of the police officers, who seem to know that I was a volunteer, and points to the tunnel past that sinkhole where a man with a crooked back paced back and forth at the opening.

"—that tunnel, there!" the old man before me finishes.

"Ah, okay! Lemme see if I've got any—"

One. I only have a single orange in my box.

"He would love these oranges, miss," the old man prodded once again, like the soft beckoning of a _maneki-neko_ * at the fortune teller's parlour.

"S-sure," my lips twitch as I smile. For some reason, my nerves are killing me. I feel a chill rolling down my spine as I walk past the grinning old man.

I walk fast down the footpath and get myself warned by the police officers as I almost tripped into the sinkhole, which was apparently _only_ 12 meters deep. It was still a dangerous spot for anyone – especially homeless vagrants – to be walking and living around. So they tell me to use the long way around the park to get back to where I started. I didn't ask them why it takes so long to fill the sinkhole, but I had a bad feeling after that close call. Something was terribly off.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But I should be fine if I had just stuck with their instructions, right?

Right.

"Excuse me," I call to the man and hold out my hand: a lunchbox with an orange on top. He still paces to and fro one end of the tunnel's mouth and another, not paying attention to my presence. "A friend of yours said you'd like an orange."

"What friend?"

I jump. He sounds surprisingly younger than most of the homeless men.

"T-the old man… from over there…" I gestured using my head.

"There's no old man there."

I'm aghast by the poison in his voice. So I turn and glance to where I was just walking from, "Look, there's that—eh? Where did he go?"

"Oh, there _was_ an old man, alright," the man before me stops moving, standing still right in front of me. "But he ain't here no more…"

As he steps out of the tunnel and into the light, I hear the soft whirring of something in the distance. If his back wasn't crooked, he would've been as tall as 2 foot taller! His dark hair was dishevelled, pale skin filthy and dehydrated, beard and moustache like virgin forests of Borneo over his face—underneath all that mess I could tell he was young indeed. Probably slightly older than me. It makes me wonder how he ended up here.

He comes up further and snatches the food I offered before receding back into the dark like a feral cat. "The old man's dead! He died last week… in the earthquake."

I gasp.

"Wh-Who're—Wha-what're you?" sentences couldn't form in my mouth.

"You saw a ghost who died of an earthquake… It can only mean one thing."

 _What?_

I couldn't ask him aloud. My heart is beating fast. Sweats break out from my pores. There's a strange warmth rising from the pit of my stomach like the bubbling burst of a volcano, waiting to erupt in both anger and surprise.

"There's another one coming."

His crass remark was horrifying. Even if he didn't know that I just got here, it was still uncommon for a Japanese like him. No homeless man – no matter how desolate or angry they were at the world – would ever react this way before. I want to yell in his face and tell him to go to hell, discounting all manner of decorum.

But as I was inhaling a good amount of air, the ground shook. I freeze.

I could hear sharp screams pierce into the night sky like a fabric being pulled apart from its seams and torn free.

The buildings around me swayed and my own balance is deteriorating, becoming nearly as wobbly as that jelly cake I offered to the homeless yesterday.

Lights are flickering all around me—some within the buildings whilst others in the streets.

Somehow, within this vibrating madness, there are hopeless gasps held through the motions. Then there's a vacuum that cancels out all sounds, except for the rattling of the belly of the Earth itself and before it could get any louder, the ground is indeed breaking. I hear a loud crack from underneath my feet and the concrete splits as easily as snapping twigs or a cracker biscuit. The man before me threw his food on the ground. I couldn't react.

It all happens so fast.

One second I was looking straight at him, parallel and level. Then I was looking up as he was looking down on me, hands reaching out. Can he reach? Will I catch his reach? Will he be in time?

"I've got you!"

I slam hard against the protruding soil underneath the now split open footpath. The sinkhole must've been widened by the new earthquake. I can see drain works beneath me with its waters still flowing—it was as if looking at a soldier's wound as he's been shot by a wide bullet that cuts through his skin, tissue and bone. The ground is still shaking too, now more ruthlessly than ever. My grip is slipping. So is his.

"Just hang on for a bit!"

I'm slipping.

I can't wrap my head around what was happening. I still had problems believing in it. Am I really here? In this very moment?

"I-I can't hold on!" I shout back.

The man clenches my hands harder with his nails digging into my skin. It hurts, but I don't think about it though—I was busy looking at the moon and the twinkling stars behind his head. Do they know how violent this earthquake is just by looking? What do they think about it? About our helplessness?

I wish I was there instead, in the distant galaxy far away—just for a moment, just until this earthquake passes.

"Hang in there!" he urges and tries to pull me.

But I could feel the dread as heavy as lead.

Maybe it was the magnet core, calling every iron mineral in my body into the ground, but I was just getting heavier and heavier to be hanging onto his hands. It was getting more painful for me to reach out and extend my arm like this too. I can't.

I just can't.

This was really a bad idea.

My grandma and grandpa always told me it was bad to travel at the end of the year. You've probably wondered about the Mayans as I did before—why did they pick December of all months to end a yearly calendar? Sure, it wasn't October like now, but bad things always seem to happen during the last quarter of the year. It's like Mother Earth has that _time of the month_ when she's all cranky and crude and harsh. Or maybe we just owed her money in the form of climate change and preservation policies, and the bill comes due to every end of the financial year.

And I've picked that time of the year to travel to Japan, the country with one of the most active faults in the world.

Haha. I could laugh all about it, now. It all seems so stupid, so rash and naïve.

"O-Oy! Don't cry!"

His face blurs in my vision. Everything is blotched as if someone threw a bucket of water over a wet painting. His voice is humming in the buzz of chaos. Every sound is ringing in my popped ears.

I can't believe my fate.

I was here to help people, but now I'm being helped.

I was here to remind myself not to regret shit, but that's all I ever think of in these small moments in deathly time.

I was just hearing the story about a man who wants to die just so he could reincarnate into his second chance and relive his life so he could do it all right. I was just telling him how I don't believe in all that. That I live in the present and in making it right now. _Bullshit_.

Just what the hell can I do in moments like this? Would it suffice for me to die trying to make an escape? Should I just face it without regret? Have I really done enough in my life?

Will I be able to face my dead grandparents and tell them everything that I've done to avoid being a stupid little girl who was once selfish and cruel?

"I-I don't wanna—" I gasp. My breaths are just sips of air, a cross between gasping and sobbing.

"You're not gonna die!" he seethes in my face, almost spitting. His face looks red as he tries to pull me up again. But to no avail.

I heard a man telling me how his life was pulled from under his feet like a rug. Now my life is slipping from beneath my feet, too.

I feel it now.

Like a ripe fruit falling off a branch. Like an asteroid gaining speed and bursting with fire, shooting across the skies.

I slip from his hands. He topples forward.

We fall into the depths behind me.

I may've passed out. I can't tell apart if I was conscious or unconscious as we kept on falling and falling and falling.

The darkness slips in from every corner till there was nothing but—

a white light.

Bright. Hot. Blinding.

Was this death? It's not possible that it's not painless like this!

It is sudden and quick, almost as crass as the morning sun breaking through curtain fabrics or the odd spell of rain during a summer's day. Acidic—not on my body, but on my memories. Bittersweet too—as if I was saying goodbye to a dark place as I step into the light.

And then pain. Utter pain. _Unadulterated_ pain.

Like a torrent of rogue waves. Like monsoon in a storm. Like mad, raging hurricanes.

Sharp little needles that seep into every pore and then—

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hello, readers! Here I am, writing my love affair with first person POV and a self-insert! I used to be a huge Naruto fan back when I was 13 (and that was 14 years ago!) and on this account of mine, I have had several times writing a few Naturo fanfic. I decided to tone it down to a few good OCs (or SI/OCs) as an effort to polish my own writing style. :)

I was such a big fan I would dream of Naruto. One of it was Itachi dropping me off at a brothel where a biker gang was entertaining themselves - I, who was his cousin in the dream - just because he's had enough of taking me around during his Akatsuki membership years. But then Shino saved my life. He saved my life several times in my dreams, though. That poor baby! No one really pays much attention to him, right? Meanwhile, Sasuke was always that loner-boy who has a distant crush on me! I've had several dreams (continuous but spanning weeks/months of interval in between) with him always blushing and watching me from afar! Ah, the good old days! I miss those dreams!;_;

*Maneki-neko is the porcelain-made 'beckoning cat' you'll always see in Asian stores. It's been said and used to bring in luck!

Let me know in the reviews if you guys enjoyed this or ever had a Naruto dream! :)


	2. 1-1

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I do not own Naruto or the materials associated with the manga/anime franchise. What I do own is this story in part or whole, the plot and set-up of the plot, and original characters that came with it.

* * *

 **The River Between Two Oceans  
** 1-1

Pain seemingly subsides into mere pinches, from bursts of lightning and thunder to mere twinkles of faraway stars and galaxies pulsing on the very tip of my nerves.

I whip my eyes open.

Everything is dark and quiet. So _deathly_ quiet. And numb.

My head pounds slightly, faint like the ebbing waves of a distant but familiar sea—one that I could almost taste in my mouth and smell in my nose. Taste of salmon like sashimi rolls and smell like pungent but bitter roasted coffee beans. My whole body feels so _different_ , foreign and detached from my own self. It feels like I was driven out of the ordinary and recognisable then thrown into an extraordinary unusualness as if I had always been steering a ship's helm only to realise it was a mere small boat and that helm was nothing other than a pair of paddles. As if I actually awoke in another person's body.

Perhaps I had simply forgotten who I truly was and so here I am, pondering the difference between before and after, the awareness of and after-the-fact. I feel so frightened by those prospects that I begin to shudder. Or maybe I'm just confused by the possibility of these delusions being true?

My hands reach out, but are they really mine? It's like putting on gloves for the first time only to realise they're not loose plastic, but tight wool mittens. Itchy around the areas of tight, protruding bones like my knuckles and wrist, or knees and ankles. I look down to see a white shirt that I couldn't remember as something I was last wearing and the dark shorts that cover nearly half of my stubby little legs were torn and tattered. My whole body – strangely enough – feels so much lighter too and my clothes are sticking to my skin like a layer of dead tissue—I've been sweating, probably all night long, and probably that's also why everything feels like wool. My breaths are barely pants of air and I'm taking in as much it as I can, especially with my gaping mouth.

It's like I've been running the whole night through. Like I was chased around by something without even knowing why.

Was it all just a dream?

Was it even a dream?

I have to remember. I _need_ to remember. I feel so distant from my memories as though I never existed up until the moment I woke up just now. I know there is a trivial thing that could mean the uttermost urgency and impertinence, but I just can't assemble whatever that was. That memory has sunk deep within the dark water of my own consciousness, interlaced somehow with an absent subconscious that manifests a reality which clashes constantly with my own amateur imagination. It's like I was _drowning_ , submerged underneath its weight then emerged out of it only to forget the fact that water has slinked into my lungs—distracted by the cool, tender and _nice_ feel of the water.

There was just something that I have to – and _must_ – remember. Just what was it?

The more I try to remember, the more my head hurts. Whatever semblance of confidence I have left finally wavers.

Maybe figuring out where I am now might jog my memories.

So I take in my surroundings and look around the dark room. After a while of meaningless staring, the light adjusts my eyes. I could make out several things thanks to the silver moonlight that slithers onto every edge of any surface within this confined space. Shapes soon begin to form and my mind makes out the rest of the images through a spec of logic that still resides in my blank mind.

I could see a cauldron resting atop a burnt-out pit right smack in the middle of the large room ahead—scratch that, this whole place is _huge_ room! There is no separation between the bedroom, dining, living or kitchen; each one of these is rounded up together in this confinement without knowing which part begins or the other ends. I see a small armchair at the foot of the dining room and a set of padded cushions in the living room circled around a coffee table full of empty plates. The kitchen is nothing but a galley of necessary (but doorless) cupboards where things (not exactly sure of the shapes) are stowed away—I assume that fire pit is the only stove and source of heat of the whole room. That was it.

In other words, this was a very, _very_ small house—not a room.

A traditional house at that too, what with most of its amenities operating mainly for an on-floor seating. Another obvious sign is the fact that the dining room was raised over three feet above the ground, but that armchair seems out of place.

I try to find some sort of clue, but nothing seems to help me remember anything. Everything still looks unfamiliar and strange. Like I was kidnapped here.

I try to find a sign of life or even another bed, but it seems that the bed I was sitting up on was indeed the only proper bed (with frames and whatnot) in here. There's an opened window to my left that carried within the house the smell of warm and humid forests, as if the dews from the trees outside were calling out to me, beckoning my memories as I do. There's also a wardrobe – with one tatami door left ajar – to my right and I can see the little amounts of clothing tucked in there. Rolled futons are wrapped neatly and stored on the higher shelf, like a bunch of squished marshmallows, so that must mean there is _someone_ else here.

Something stirs on the bed.

"Momoko?"

I start at the sound of the voice. I _know_ whose voice this belonged to.

"Wh-who's there?" My throat is dried, so my voice sounds hoarse and raspy. I'm even more sure that I've been running now.

"Jun, wake up!" the voice gets excited. It sounds like it came from my right side. "She's awake!"

I turn and look down. I could only see a blurred silhouette. There _was_ someone there.

"Who are you!?" I was surprised by my own shouting.

Then I hear another voice, groaning from the other side of the bed. I could make out a pair of eyes looking back—very _familiar_ eyes.

A clatter resounds. Then the clicks that followed come in threes. And then I hear a hiss. Then—

There is suddenly light in the room, shining from an oil lamp that the stranger – now revealed to be a man – was holding steady and high. His mouth is hanging open in shock as he looks at me with his wide, dark brown eyes. He's tanned, tall and skinny; he looked old with his lack of hair, leftover greys, and wrinkled skin. Most of all, I _know_ him. Then I turn to the other stranger; this one is a she and she has curls of white hair framing her meek heart-shaped face. Her eyes are dark and glistening like obsidian gems. She is paler than him but no less older.

Tears slip out from her eyes as they continuously stare at me and I at them. Oh, I _know_ her alright!

I wheeze in more air and out comes a deep sigh. I'm relieved somehow. " _Oba-chan_? _Oji-chan_?"

"My _Rurihime*_!" she looks glad to see me too as if the fear that I won't remember or wake up had been choking around her neck. She throws herself at me and holds me tight, and I reach out to hold her.

There's a small wonder in me that questions the reality of this hug, her presence, and authenticity of this life itself.

"Oh, my poor baby!" she kisses me on my head several times—each at different spots, "You're all right! You're all right!"

I feel a soft pat on my head. And then my hair gets ruffled up.

"Geez, kid! You scared the hell outta us!" I hear my Grandpa mumble—also frightened by the same kind of chokehold.

I feel his warmth and hers collide, submerging me between them and then I feel _that_ fear flooding over me. Suddenly that same death-like presence overwhelms me in this solemn but light air. My grip tightens and my chest aches, crushed gently by my own constricting rib cages.

"I thought… I thought you were—" I start crying and they pull away.

What did I think? Maybe that's what I was trying to remember from that dream. I was thinking about something dreadful and terrible, which only made me fearful of this present. Is this real? Or is the dream nothing but a huge lie?

"What's wrong, honey?" my Grandma rubs my back as I'm making strange noises—a fit that was a cross between snorting and sobbing. "What did you think?"

I stop and pause.

I really thought that they were gone. _Dead_.

"I-I'm scared! I-I thou—thought I was gonna wa-wake up alone!" my tears overwhelm me and they hug me once more. "I thought you were gone! I thought you guys were dead!"

They say nothing.

And for some reason, that scares me even more.

It takes them a while to respond. I feel that that was unnecessary as if they were trying to tell me that I was right, that it was appropriate of me to fear their deaths—as though it has happened or might happen. _Again_.

"Hush now!" my Grandma speaks softly against my ear, "You're alright! You had a bad dream, is all!"

I feel my Grandpa's head nod as he rests his chin on my head. "Yeah, you have been asleep for three days after all!"

I whip my head up and they break the embrace again.

 _Three days_!?

"What!?" I shout louder than I expected, but I tone down when a pang of icy prickly pain begins thrumming from within my head. "Ouch!"

"Whoa there! You have a bump on your head now after what happened!" he goes on again.

"A bump?" I pause once more.

Just a bump?

I feel like given what might've happened there should be more than a bump on my head. Why do I think that way? What—

"What _exactly_ happened?" I ask while my hand knead my temple.

My Grandma smiles and giggles. "You fell into the river! The current was strong and somehow, you've hit your head in the riverbed and that's why you have that bump on your head!"

"And you _almost_ drowned! You passed out and I had to hurry and get'chu out—r'else we won't be talking here!"

I don't recall that.

I can't recall anything like that at all.

In fact, I still think it was much _worse_ than that.

I feel my Grandpa pat on my head again and this time, he examines a specific spot that was lumpy and achy. I flinch at that for a few times before I reach out for it—it doesn't seem real to me. Though I feel the pain, it doesn't feel _personal_ to me somehow. It feels like I didn't feel the pain when it happens, only after it has happened. Like I was only feeling the aftershocks. Like what ails me is only the scar of an old wound, a wound I don't remember getting for myself.

Ah! I'm not making any sense!

"Yup!" he chuckles together with my Grandma, "Looks like that's gonna leave a mark!"

I'm not worried about that.

" _Rurihime-chan_ , let's just get some sleep, alright?" My Grandma cajoles me.

Rurihime.

 _Lapis Lazuli. Princess._

Why is she calling me that? Has she always called me that?

Hold on.

What are their names? How old are they? Where are my parents? How long have I been with them? Where is everybody else? Where are we?

 _What's my name_?

The pain in my head worsens. I grab my head with both hands and start screaming.

"What's wrong?" I hear my Grandma scrambles up to her feet. "Jun, do something!"

A buzzing resounds in my ear. Loud and strong. Deafening.

My vision blurs and fogs up by blinking white stars.

"It's just the injury… I guess it may be much more serious than we thought. I'll get the doctor first thing tomorrow morning," my Grandpa says.

A doctor. Yes, maybe I could ask the doctor if this was normal.

If being so detached from my body is normal. No, not just this body. This reality isn't the same as I remembered it… No, I don't know what I remember! Is that normal!?

I look up to my Grandpa. "Oji-chan, help me… _Please_! I can't—I just—I just can't—!"

"It's okay, kiddo! Just sleep for tonight! I'll call for the doctor tomorrow—I promise!"

"Oh, Jun! I can't bear seeing her like this!" my Grandma proceeds to cry.

My Grandpa is calm. But I may be wrong.

He is only calm and composed because he is the eye of this storm itself. His eyebrows are scrunched up together, but his dark eyes are cool. His body isn't trembling. He's not frightened, but he is worried and he knows why he should be. I just wish he would tell me—maybe not now, but later.

"Don't worry. The doctor's coming tomorrow," he falls back on his knees and rummages for something on the side of the bed.

I could see what was there: a pot of water and glass, and a bunch of herbs scattered next to a pestle and mortar. He throws some of them into the mortar and crushes them with the pestle over and over until they were mushed, a paste of a strange odour. Then he scoops them into the glass and pours the water into it. The drink is greenish and brown, and I know it was meant for me even before he hands it out.

I stare at it. But I wasn't thinking.

When I drink it, I taste nothing. Or rather, I couldn't taste anything. I couldn't feel the water in my mouth. I only know pain.

That pain blocks everything else.

"Isn't that too much _hokkai-kisso*_?" my Grandma sounds skeptical.

I wonder what that thing is.

"She needs it," he mumbles as he pats my head and ruffles my hair again. This time that feels soothing. "She'll be out in a minute and she'll be asleep for hours."

"Oh, my poor Rurihime…"

The pain is gone. Or I wasn't feeling anything anymore.

My Grandma takes the glass from my hand. My Grandpa pats on the pillow behind me. Then she takes me in her arms and pushes me down. He straightens then bed and the blanket. She lays me down gently. He pulls the blanket over me.

They both tug me in. And smile.

My eyes couldn't keep up.

I close them and everything was dark, but I could hear more clearly.

"Are you sure about this, Jun?"

"Come on, Ranko! Just stick with it, please!"

Hm. Stick with what?

Is something wrong?

"Well, I know we have no say in this matter! But she appeared like _this_! Is this normal?"

I… I _appeared_?

Like this?

How else should I have appeared? Wait, why would I be _appearing_?

"I don't know what's normal anymore… and you don't either. Let's just get this over with, alright?"

"What if she doesn't remember anything?"

What if I don't remember…

"She will, eventually."

Oh.

How come! How could he know about that? How does he know I can't remember anything?

I didn't even tell him!

Right?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

There's silence on his part.

I hear some scuffle. Then footsteps move away. Then another round of footsteps follow.

"I think you know what _that_ means…" his voice is far now, but I can tell the distaste in his thoughts and how uncomfortable that made him.

My Grandma makes a groan. "Of course! She didn't die as a child."

What does she mean by that, I wonder?

If I'd almost drowned, then I didn't die, right? Is that it?

"Exactly. So when she grows up, her memories will come back to her."

"How will we know when that happens?"

"Probably never, to be honest."

Huh.

What—

"Darling, you don't think—"

does he—

"It doesn't matter what I think… J-Just—Let's just live together as peacefully and happily as possible."

he mean?

"You mean, until the—"

Until _what_!?

"No matter what happens, it's always best we try."

Until _what_ happens!?

I can't speak. I can't move. My body isn't responding. My mind is a flurry of storms. I'm stuck in paralysis.

My Grandma sighs. "I suppose there's always that!"

"I'll get the doctor anyway… but she needs to get used to it. Once she does, she will be fine—I know it."

Get used to this?

To being a stranger in my own body? To questioning everything even when I shouldn't? To wondering why I can't connect to this reality?

"I hope you're right. And I hope the doctor won't find anything wrong with her."

"Yes, let's hope that."

"I'll ready our beds then."

"Yes… We have a long day ahead of us."

What is going on?

Why were they talking like that? Why am I—

Sleep is awash completely over my body and mind now.

I can't fight the drowsiness. I can't resist the call of slumber, soft and kind to me. As if it was telling me everything will be better when I wake up next.

I want to believe that.

But the dread remains. The questions echo. The mystery deepens.

And I—

fall asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Edited 3/12/19 - Fixed some grammar! And the plot thickens! I hope you guys enjoyed this. I know this does mean that the story is a bit slow (because that means Naruto characters aren't introduced yet), but it will be worth the plot! :)

* _hokkai-kisso_ is Valerian Root in Japanese (according to several sources). Apparently that root is popular for sleeping aids and pain-killers!

My favourite Naruto couple would be Minato and Kushina. I mean, come on, this guy is the youngest Hokage and he has created an advanced technique that could rival the speed of the Second Hokage (which is a feat by itself). And this guy is still afraid of his wife! Kushina is another Naruto (no doubt he inherited her personality), but I really like how she can be portrayed as someone who is pretty meek (in terms of skills) but she is a Jinchuuriki no less. If I could travel to the Naruto world, interacting with these two would be interesting and definitely on the top of my list. It would explain why I keep writing stories in their timeline. Indeed, they will be missed! ;_;


	3. 1-2

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I do not own Naruto or the materials associated with the manga/anime franchise. What I do own is this story in part or whole, the plot and set-up of the plot, and original characters that came with it.

* * *

 **The River Between Two Oceans  
** 1-2

Burnt rice. Not too burnt to be inedible.

Salty vapours. Just sprinkles of a pinch.

Sweet onion smoke and sour tangy scent. And of course, hot and spicy spurts that itch my nose and sting my eyes.

I get up much faster than I could open my eyes properly, but that takes its toll just as fast. I trip over my own feet and slip forward, hitting my chin just right enough to hurt but not to bruise. Luckily my head didn't land, too—or else my memories will only get worse! It seems I swung my arm just in time to catch my head. Ironically, my eyes open in time for my fall! But I shut them back as I tumble.

"Ow! Dang, that _hurt_!" I cried out as I rub my chin and knuckles. I may've even scraped my knees a little because they start to itch and sting. And maybe even sprained an ankle…

So this must mean that I'm a klutz, doesn't?!

"Rurihime-chan?" my Grandma turns around from the open fire pit and jumps on her feet to my rescue, abandoning her kitchen task to pick me up. "Oh, my baby! Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine, oba-chan! I think," I try to laugh it off, but she looks far too serious to be so easily amused.

She lets out a forceful sigh. "You're not letting yourself rest, dear! You should just sleep the pain away… and that medicine your grandfather gave you—it's a bunch of powerful herbs that will make you groggy if you don't have enough rest!"

"W-well, I'm actually quite hungry, oba-chan."

She widens her eyes and smiles. " _Mou_ , I can't believe you! You were so hungry you woke up at the smell of food?"

I nod rather slowly. It was rather embarrassing to give in to admission—especially given my situation.

She merely chuckles and I watch as she heads back to the pit, removes the lid from the cauldron on the crackling fire and beckons at me.

"Is it because _this_ woke you up, perhaps?" She preens herself with an even wider smile.

I noted her cheeky tone and take a careful peek into the pot. I could see rice cooking in what smells like spices, ginger, onions, and meat broth. I immediately knew what this was, even if I'm not really sure of everything else.

She's making my favourite dish: _spiced rice cooked in beef broth_.

Grandma always has talent when it comes to cooking food—not just _any_ food, but food with scarce or limited supplies of other staples and necessary condiments. This was one of the samples of her simplest so-called 'Life-Hacks' recipes. She is a survivor who has survived the toughest times with the littlest of materials and this is one of the many proofs of her fortitude. For some reason, I seem to always remember her this way. I seem to remember her in every taste, every feeling that accompanied each one of the foods she'd prepared for us. Even now, I feel as if I've missed her and her cooking. I feel as though all this time I had actually been trying to remember the food she would make and how they would taste like—all because I yearned for her.

I wonder why…

I suppose there are still questions in my head that need answering and mysteries that need dissecting. And it seems not discovering the answers meant that I will only be collecting more questions and mysteries! I know there's so much I'd like – rather, I _need_ – to know more about before I could truly comprehend what's happening to me. But in this small moment, I only want to enjoy it as it is. This small moment outshines all the pain and the drugged stupor I'm currently feeling.

So I just jump onto her and give her a good hug.

"Thank you, oba-chan!" I feel something tugging at the ends of my heartstrings and I could almost cry. But that would be weird—so I bit my lip, holding it all back and hugged her tighter. "This is my _ultimate_ favourite!"

"Oh, Rurihime!" she laughs and cups my face in her somewhat calloused hand, "Are you feeling much better now, perhaps?"

I nod. "Just a bit…"

"Do you still feel any pain, dear?"

I press my head right where that lump is supposed to be.

It's still there, alright. Well, I know it wasn't going to disappear overnight! Even if it still throbbed a little, I can't seem to feel it very much thanks to my hunger.

"Yeah, Grandma," I chuckle before I go ahead, patting hard on the cushion seats so it puffs up and I take my place by the warm heat. "Like oji-chan said… it's going to be there for a while. Maybe forever."

"Never say forever, dear," she raises a finger—a mere omen of a scolding as she prepares half a plate with a good dollop of the spiced rice.

Eh?

Pretty sure the phrase is: _never say never._

And of course, I didn't notice several other things that were lying around when I finally sat myself down.

There're a few pots left opened by her seat cushion: one with some leftover portion of boiled beef within it and the smaller ones had some kind of stir-fried vegetables in them. I notice a pot of water with three differently shaped porcelain mugs around it, too—one of it must've been my Grandpa's because it's right on top of a stack of used plates.

Speaking of which, where is he?

I've only realised now that the house was incredibly quiet. I'm even positive that the sound of my falling even echoed earlier!

When I look around the wide living room, I notice two separate futons were folded and rolled very neatly at the edge of my bed frame. Still, there is no sign of Grandpa.

"Come on now! Let's have breakfast!" Grandma smiles as she waves in my face—I must've been spacing off to her.

"By the way, oba-chan," I take a good, sure whiff of the steam from the food in my face before I ask, "Where is oji-chan?"

My Grandma hums back. "Oh, he went to fetch the doctor, remember?"

Right. How could I forget that?

And that only happened _yesterday_! I'm still well aware of the doubt and suspicion from yesterday as if it happened a mere second ago! And yet I couldn't remember something so simple like this? Maybe I'm still a little dazed thanks to whatever's left of that drowsiness still stunting parts of my brain. Maybe I'm just clueless…

"Will he be out long?"

"He'll be back in hopefully 4 hours' time."

"4 hours?!"

She falls silent for a while and I proceed to wait for her to get her share of the food in front of us.

I stare at every single move she makes as if it were all my first time seeing them—it wasn't something I could help myself with!

Her graceful and nimble hands look so wise, new and novel. She has an air of strength melded with an equal weight of perseverance and suffering. Yet she somehow looks so different, as though I have only seen her from a distance—as if I had been seeing a guiding star or faraway thunderclouds clapping. As if I have only been referring to her in pure, unchanging memories— _always_.

Even then, I feel that thinking about her makes me forget. I'm calmer now and my thoughts are more organised—maybe that's what a good night's sleep does to your mind and body. I'm worrying less about the things that distressed me before, but maybe that's also because they've sunk beyond my own care for it. Maybe it's because I've accepted the mysteries as something that I can't fully understand yet—just as one would accept the tiring need to breathe every now and then as a must, even with the knowledge that one will definitely die.

Eh, was I always this mature?

This is odd!

Or perhaps I'm just so hungry that food is all that I think about! Maybe food makes me forget things that worry me and I'm acting merely on instinct, like a baby thrown into still, shallow waters.

Eh! What would a baby do in that situation? Would they know how to swim?

As soon as Grandma sits down on her cushion, my stomach takes its cue and out comes a grumble that rival the howls of wolves. She laughs, of course.

"Go ahead, dear! Dig in!" she points to our full plates with what looks like sticks.

I nod. Almost too vigorously.

I just use my bare hands to lump some of the warm rice together and scoop it right back up into my mouth—wow. It is as I remembered it!

The beef broth allowed some oily feel to the rice, but not too much as it is quite light after all. There is that meaty hint of sweetness to the taste and some tangy, garlic and spice mixture that brings up the salt. I could cry! I quickly tear up some of the meat and mesh it with some rice and scoop it right back up into my mouth—wow again! The actual texture of the meat is soft and squishy that you won't have to chew without hurting your teeth at all! This brings back so much old, happy memories!

I keep using my hand comfortably, whimpering in joy and happiness as I take one further scoop of rice and another—only to realise that my Grandma hasn't started eating.

Instead, she's staring at me like I was growing another head or another eye on my forehead.

"What's wrong?" I promptly asked with my mouth full.

I still help myself with my bare hands for several more rounds before she actually replies to me; "Take _this_ , dear," she orders rather firmly so I follow. "We use this to eat."

She hands me a pair of sticks wrapped nicely in a small bib-like towel to me and I pause. So that's what she was holding. I giggle.

 _Chopsticks_. But of course!

For a while there, using my bare hands seemed normal. I mutter an apology and take it from her, pulling it from its cotton case and snap it open. Then I rub them together and slide one close to the tip of my forefinger while the other is tucked right beneath the base of my thumb.

That comes more naturally than I thought it would!

But I can't close the gap as much as I'd hope and every time I'd hook them together to pick up a lump of rice, my grip falls apart and the rice falls back to the plate.

"You're shaking, dear," my Grandma notes as she finally begins enjoying her meal.

I look down at my hand where the chopsticks were. "Oh, maybe I'm still a little groggy!"

Once again, nothing of humour fazes her—well, _health_ -wise, I guess.

Though I still think very little of my troubles and even laughed about it, she doesn't look like she bought it. She _senses_ my constant worry and anxiety. So she scoots over to my side and hands me a cup of porcelain filled with warm water. I take it and drink a few sips.

"You need to keep flushing the herbal effects by drinking plenty of fluids," she explains and pats me on my back—right where my neck meets my spine. "Just eat slowly, alright?"

I give a sheepish nod.

She proceeds to eat and I thought about what I could ask her while I wait for my mind to regain however little control of my body.

" _Ne_ , oba-chan," I call out and she shoots me a welcoming look, but she doesn't stop eating. "I reckon hitting my head may affect my mind somehow… so I wanted to ask you a few things—just to be sure, you know?"

"Ask away, dear," and she's quick to reply to me.

"Well, I wanna know the basics first… Wha-What's my name, oba-chan?"

"Momoko, obviously!"

"I know that, but—"

Do I really know that _that_ 's my name?

It means 'peach child'. It does suit me when you look at my chubby cheeks.

I pinch them as I think about it and she laughs at that.

"Ueno Momoko. _That_ 's your name, dear. _My_ name is Ueno Ranko and your grandfather is Ueno Jun."

 _Ueno_. 'Upper field'.

But also the name of… _something_ else. It rings a familiar bell that's abruptly becoming unfamiliar.

"Wha—What about… I mean, uh, what happened to—"

" _Your_ parents?"

I nod quietly. I think I could sense her answer.

"They, uh… didn't _make_ it."

What's that supposed to mean? _Make it_?

"I see…" I may've sound relatively calm, but my insides are churning—not only because of the food I was eating or the drugs I'm flushing. But because the answer she gives me was vague, unknown and that pains me somehow.

"You've got us, dear. You don't have to worry 'bout a thing!"

I smile back. "Of course, I know that!"

"What else would you like to ask? We can go over anything you'd like… and take your time, dear. It's going to be something to get used to, so try to process it bit by bit and that'll make everything comes naturally faster to you."

"Um, okay…" I chew a little on the edge of my chopsticks. "What about me, oba-chan? How old am I? How tall am I? Have I always looked like… _this_?"

I pause to watch her reactions—I hope she doesn't think I've heard them talking last night. Even now, I find it hard to believe I was really awake and whether it was true.

She laughs, much to my surprise. "Of course, you always have!"

I'm relieved. But I'm a little unsure of what I should be worried about: that I was always _this_ way to her or that her reactions didn't meet my expectations. Did I want her to notice my insinuation? Or was it as simple as myself being highly unsatisfied by the bland explanations she provided?

"You're about 4 years old, at least by the end of this year—you were born on the first day of December. You're under 4 four foot tall and yes, you've always been my favourite plump peach!"

I feel my cheeks flush.

Wait a minute.

I'm 5!? That's not possible!

I press my temple. I almost even drop my plate.

"Oh, what's wrong, dear?"

I shake my head. "I don't know why but… my head hurts when I think about what you've just said, oba-chan."

"I told you: take it in slowly!"

How do I that, Grandma, when you've just told me that I'm 5 and not—

how old should I have been?

"You're still confused about who you are?" her tone is kind and gentle. It seems to ease up my headache for a moment.

I nod.

"Well, it's no surprise, dear. You have been asleep for four nights— _five_ if we'd include last night."

"No, I just feel like… like I know too much for a 5-year-old and too much of the things a 5 year shouldn't know."

"We're farmers the moment we are born and we've been farmers for over generations and generations! I suppose that's all we've ever been! So it isn't wisdom that makes you older than your age—it's more instinct than experience!"

Why do I find that hard to believe?

"I just feel like…" I set my plate down and stare at my bare hands, trying to read into the lines and wrinkles that make up my palm as if it would speak to me like a clue I left behind. "I feel like I'm just… so much more mature than this body of mine. Like I'm _way_ older than this body!"

"Ah, well, in this world I'm not surprised."

I whip my head up.

What does that mean?

She answers me, anyway. "We live in Kusagakure, right smack between 3 hidden villages full of shinobis!"

 _Shinobi_? Ninjas?

"You know what that is, right?"

I find myself puffing my nostrils. I do indeed!

"A village full of ninjas? Part of the 5 Great Shinobi Nations?" Alright, now I'm just saying stuff I don't know squat what about!

"That's right. Kusagakure isn't one of the nations, though. But it is nudged right between one of the two biggest ones: Iwagakure no Sato _and_ Konohagakure no Sato."

 _Kusagakure_. 'Hidden Grass.' _Iwagakure_. 'Hidden Stone.' _Konohagakure_. 'Hidden Leaf.'

"We're incredibly close to Takigakure no Sato too," she continues to explain as she sticks out her chopsticks in the air, "but we're more concerned with the first two, of course! Especially given—ah, forget about it!"

Why?

I want to ask, but I feel like she won't ever tell me. She probably doesn't think I'm processing as fast as she tells me things.

Well, I think so, too.

"Kusagakure is… _far_ from here, right?" I asked that instead.

"Yes, it's South from us about a day's ride by wagon. Walking takes about three days."

"Is _that_ where oji-chan is going?"

"Oh no, dear!" she laughs again, but nervously this time. "Your grandfather is too old to be running fast like ninjas in the wind! Oh, no! We live in the mountains – near Takigakure and Konohagakure in the far north-east – and our village is called Taniyama."

That means 'mountain valley'.

I continue eating. "So there's a valley?"

" _And_ mountains—specifically, two of them connected to the Konoha ranges."

"And this valley… there's a river where I drowned in, right?"

"Yes, the Aoyama river—named after the mountains it flowed from. It's not _blue_ if you ask me… more teal than blue! It's just a small stream stemming from the river…"

'Blue Mountain'.

I stay silent, still _digesting_ —not just the food, but the information Grandma is throwing at me.

"Taniyama is bigger than here, of course—that's our center. There are sundries that operate out of Kusagakure based there, too! That's where we sell our farm produce and where we exchange them for other supplies, like meat or grains."

"Do I… Have I… you know, been there?"

"Of course! You've made friends there too!"

I might've—I mean, I am a child. But it's not something I remember anything about it at all.

"Don't you remember Kotarou? And his kid sister Emiko?"

I raise an eyebrow.

She raises hers back. "Oh, my! I hope Jun gets back with the doctor much sooner! It looks like your injuries are more serious than I thought!"

I look back down to my now empty plate.

"Oh, Rurihime…"

"Why do you keep calling me that, oba-chan? I don't remember why or how that's related to me."

It was now that I finally see the dread engulfing her eyes.

I can tell that they've darkened. She even trembles a little—I know because the used chopsticks resting on her plate almost fell off as she puts it down. She looks away from me, disappointed and discouraged as if she is heartbroken by my stark question. Now that I've said it, it does seem a bit rude! But it is the truth. The last thing I want to do is to lie to her and even if she could appreciate that, she can't do anything about the discomfort anyhow—just as I couldn't do about mine.

The tension rises in the air like wildfire over dried hay. So did this awkward haze which moves almost like ash-filled smoke. I find it hard to breathe this heavy, dense climate—it's too compressed with the stress of our worries as they collide and mingle.

"I… I'm sorry, oba-chan," I start first. "There's been so much going on in my head right now. I don't know if I could trust my mind at all! Everything feels so… wrong. Everything feels so… _new_ to me. And I feel so… _misplaced_."

She doesn't comment.

That hurts.

I wish she would say words to reassure me, to say that everything will be alright or that she will always be there for me regardless. But her eyes twinkle with silent tears. I want to know why she cries so secretly, but I feel there is just no way will the reason sound right to me if I knew none of half of what I should know (at the very least). And that's why I refuse to speak again. My chest tightens so much that it threatens to crush my already wounded heart. And my eyes are stung by that pain. Once again, I bite my lips to stifle that aching sensation, but to no avail.

It was so overwhelming, so suffocating—I had to look away from my beloved Grandma.

This drags on for what feels like hours in the span of mere seconds—light-years spent as swiftly as the bat of an eye through a short wormhole. Neither of us is moving nor even breathing by the looks of it. I could hear the distant calls and hoots of forest animals outside, beckoning to us like the rolling drums of a tragic stage play coming to a close—so far from reality yet it resonates so loud, so near.

"O-Oba-chan…" I speak, but my voice is shaking.

She moves. She exhales and begins to breathe normally again.

"Your grandfather is always better at these things than I'll ever be," and she can't escape sighing for the second time. "He has a way of explaining complicated things in the simplest of ways. I guess it's why he's good at tending the orchids."

I pause.

That's true; my Grandpa _loves_ orchids. She is most definitely one of them—after all, her name is 'orchid child.'

Something returns to me at that very moment. It was like being struck by lightning or splashed by a bucket of iced water. There is a memory in my mind – not planted in a way that is foreign to me – but like waking up from a clear, conscious daydream. I remember seeing my Grandpa and Grandma joke about their names together. That has happened before and they looked exactly as they are now—the feeling of my body was the same as I'm feeling now. Yes!

"That includes you right, oba-chan?" I smile widely.

For a while, she looks pleased that I remembered something as important as that. But then something looks different in the glints of her eyes at the same time. She looks far too anxious to allow it to distract her.

"Ah, that's it," finally, she nods.

I wonder why she seems so hesitant. Whatever she's hiding, it looks like I was much slower to provide a reaction.

"I'll make some tea for our visitor!" she proceeds to stand and pick up the kettle from the kitchen top. "Oh, we don't have any water! Oh, and I'll need some more firewood to start a fire!"

I startle.

Is she—

"My, my! I should go out and fetch them before your grandfather gets back!"

—changing the subject?

"Oh, I'll need to clean the dishes too if the doctor is coming over!"

Is she running away?

"Moko-chan!"

I jump at that.

Another nickname?

She looks at me, just as surprised. "Ah," she stammers, "Y-your grandfather… He always calls you that whenever he would scold you. It means—"

" _Vagueness_ ," I mumble back.

How apt!

"Y-yes, that's right."

"I'll go fetch the water and wood, oba-chan," I reveal as I got up from my seat.

She's surprised once again. "R-Rurihime-chan…"

"Just tell me where to get a bucket, oba-chan."

"Y-Yes, it's r-right outside! Once you step out of the door, to your right is Southward and alternatively Northward to your left—can you get the picture?"

I nod.

So our home is facing the morning sun?

"We planted flower beds on the right field and you'll find a wooden trolley on the edge of it. There's a clean bucket there and you could put the wood next to it. Just be sure _not_ to mix the water with the wood!"

"I got it!"

"Walk for about 50 paces then turn left—there's a wooden shed by the riverbank where your grandfather chops firewood. The stream is right next to it," she follows me to the front door as if our strange atmosphere never even happened.

I do the same. For me, this is better.

Perhaps if I'd done things I would do as my usual chores, I'd remember things…

She then pats me on the shoulder and ushers me out of the house while I sneak my feet into two small pairs of straw shoes. "Now, be careful when you slide down the riverbank—that's where you almost drowned! And you'll find a staircase your grandfather fashioned for you…"

I pause before I walk off.

"Out of what?" I ask.

She smiles—not her usual confident one, but bitter and her eyes watery. "You'll see, dear," and she waves.

As soon as I nod and walk away, she shuts the door behind me.

I turn and stop.

Is she going to—

 _cry_

by herself?

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Edited 3/12/19 - Tried to fix as much as I could. :)

I have nothing against the Uchihas. My favourite Uchihas are probably Shisui and Itachi. I'd love to have seen more of them and more of Izuna Uchiha (or that Uchiha chick who mastered Kotoamatsukami in the anime). Shisui seems like a more matured and cooler version of Captain Yamato - he has that same cheeky look that Yamato has. Let me know of your thoughts in the review!


	4. 1-3

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I do not own Naruto or the materials associated with the manga/anime franchise. What I do own is this story in part or whole, the plot and set-up of the plot, and original characters that came with it.

* * *

 **The River Between Two Oceans  
** 1-3

Should I—

have gone back?

I'm still standing in front of the door, wondering about it over and over, and pacing back and forth along the paveless walkway. If Grandma could see me right now, she would've thought that I was being odd and suspicious. Even _I_ would think that I'm being odd and suspicious! But really, I just can't decide which is the right thing to do: to let us some time apart or be there for each other. I don't want to be so rude or ungrateful to her too, especially given my current situation. But at the same time, I don't want to force myself to be someone I'm not (or rather, not sure of) and I'm sure my rents wouldn't want that too. More importantly, they don't deserve to be played around with.

Or maybe I'm just reading too much into this. Plus I can't be sure if she was really crying—I couldn't hear anything from out here!

But somehow I _know_ in my heart that she's crying and as at this moment, I want to know why so badly.

I _need_ to know!

Still, I know I shouldn't screw this up. My Grandma has been reacting rather emotionally to my situation, so perhaps it's best for all of us that she has some time to shed her tears. But I hate this _numbing_ feeling, this paralysis and the thought of being stuck like this indefinitely. I feel as if every decision I make amounts to the great importance and the choices provided show very little difference between right and wrong.

If only I had truly known who I really was…

perhaps no one would get hurt as easily as this.

My memories – and the lack thereof – are no doubt essential to my identity, my getting used to this strange, almost newfound existence and maybe even the cure to this foggy perception that I now possess in my mind. It's like my whole mind is nothing but a fine mist as if I'm living life just looking through a scratched up glass—I could still make up silhouettes on the glass even if the sight is blurred.

That's exactly how I feel right now.

My spirit is bright and cheerful, positive-thinking. My body is light and springy, but that's how a child should be like, isn't it?

Or maybe I should try doing things as naturally as possible? Just like that time when I could remember how to hold chopsticks…

If I could just try out doing the things I would normally do, maybe things will actually reveal themselves to me! Maybe my body would remember more than my mind. And maybe I should expose myself to everything I'm used to doing and everyone that I'm used to seeing—just delving into the whole experience and let myself come back to me. If I could hear, see and taste something fuzzy but familiar, then that familiar thing will become much clearer and I'll end up with a memory that I can actually relate to.

Right. I should be optimistic about this! I must figure out a way to be myself again, even if it feels strange to me now. No, there must be a way for everything to feel absolutely _normal_ again. Whatever 'normal' is!

Now that I've decided on my next course of action, the most primary thing to get used to was, of course, the _environment_. Gotta get familiar with—

So I look up ahead and see my full surroundings for the very first time.

 _Whoa_! I didn't think my rents would have this big property!

The poor and rackety country house is all meek and little standing in the middle of land so wide and a forest so thick with tall trees. This land and its boundaries are marked by stone hedges—not as solid or properly laid one as you'd expect, but there's enough rock to tell the land's territory. The farming field – which is on the very left side of the house – has nearly everything! It's not as big as the average rice paddy, but it is surely about half that size to make the house look so minimal and out of place! There's a small farm of every little vegetable I know: pumpkins, cabbages, lettuces, snap beans, okras, and even chilies!?

Now I know that Grandma said that we were farmers, but this is a lot of produce! I can pretty much sum up the types of food we could make with these!

Oh, and there're fruits as well! Bananas, watermelons, guavas, papayas—it must be because the land is soft and muddy. I can only seem to find products of the tropical climate kind!

I quickly turn to my right side and find a field of flowers instead.

There are a few rows of the garden varieties kind – daffodils, dahlias, camellias and sunflowers – and then there's a corner slot that's almost shaded by black nettings roof hooked over scattered beams of strong wood. It's shaped small enough for two people to stand together, but I bet that the shade is not meant for people—but a makeshift hovering cloud of darkness over blooming beauties. Beauties that I know will smell as good as the rest of the flowers only when I got closer.

I couldn't resist having a closer look at 's hard work.

So I make a quick stop at where the shaded shelter stood. I see purple orchids, pinks, whites and—oh, I _know_ that vine! What was the name of this flower… It's a type of cactus flower… It seems so familiar. The name is almost on the tip of my tongue. Even though it wasn't in bloom, I seem to remember the face of its flower and fragrant smell.

What was the name of this orchid?

"Heh! I don't remember you!" I let out a sigh.

Suddenly, I came to the realisation that I've actually grown to know these things. I've actually figured out what's what just by looking at them! That has to be a good thing, right? I mean, even if I couldn't remember the name of this particular flower, I remember and more importantly, _know_ everything else.

It's a start. A good one!

Now I head off further to the back of the shelter to find that wooden trolley Grandma was talking about. But I don't see anything like it here: just a bunch of sacks filled with sand and soil. I noticed something protruding over the hedge and go back to the walkway to get around it. The wooden trolley is parked right outside the orchid shelter and I couldn't see it because of the hedges.

So I grab hold of it and start walking Southward. I start counting my steps, too.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

Look at all the trees! They're all—what's the word? _Content_.

You can tell by the colour it emits, by the smell and the sounds. I can hear birds singing, cooing and hooting. Calls carried through the wind only to be replied with a longer song. The rush of winds brings in humid vapours into my lungs and the smell of green, happy grass and leaves. The tree barks are wide and tall, and squirrels scurried along them leaving a trail of skittering foot taps. Cicadas sing along with the birds and together, they tell a tale of peace and undisturbed paradise.

It all makes me smile. I couldn't help but get caught up and drown myself in all the cheerful bits of air that I could breathe in.

I keep on walking with my head held high, my toes standing, my legs leaping.

6, 7, 8, 9…

I stop to ponder how far ahead is the village of Taniyama. And how far ahead is Takigakure? Or Konohagakure? How many people are waiting for me there—to find and to know? How many of them are aware of the beauty of the world around us? How many of them woke up confused and lost as I did?

10, 12, 16…

20, 21—ah, I lost count of my steps!

I gave off a good sprint that I didn't even realise!

Now I've got to pause and catch my breath. By the time I look up, there's that wooden shed on my left. I must've cut half of my steps to get this far… So the river must be just up ahead.

I stay quiet.

It was the smell that hits me first—just like the forest earlier. Then it was the sound. The spurts, gushes, and spits of a freshwater river. I taste it in the air. I feel it beneath my slippers—the ground is changing, soft and soggy. The breeze is different, turning fresher and more humid the closer I step towards the riverbank. I stop some foot away from the edge. Then I close my eyes and sip in the air as much as my little lungs could hold. And I let it all out again in one long drag.

"That… feels awesome," I mutter as I open my eyes, but as quickly as that happened, I gasp.

I drink in the extent of the horizon before me.

Thousands of more trees stood ahead across the river. The greenery was almost endless, rolling hills and towering mountains with patches of rocks scattered upon its face. Behind these mountains, the sky is kind, blue and gentle with marshmallow clouds puffing away as the wind grinds against them, disintegrating with each second that passes.

I never knew just how small I was until then. I was so meek. So petty. So _childish_.

The whole world is so much bigger, so much room to explore. I was so busy getting lost in my own situation that I failed to see how insignificant my problem was.

This goes beyond anything I'd ever think of. Why did I bother troubling my Grandma? Why did I have the time to beat around the bush, knowing life is progressing ahead of time from me no matter what? We have so much to do and yet I had the time to delay them with these petulant tantrums. I shouldn't have dragged this on further than what was necessary. They need me to help them out and I'm the only one they have. How could I be so blind and careless? I don't have time to contemplate on the confusion—after all, doing so seems to be getting me more questions than answers!

I just need to let my memories come back to me naturally. Perhaps in that way, I'll know it's right, that it's true and honest. If I keep forcing it onto myself and I'm not ready, then I'm only trying to delude myself in puzzles.

And I'm getting nowhere with that.

I nod to myself. "Right!"

I look down the riverbank, now. I spot the 'staircase' that my grandfather has fashioned for me. It seems to have been materialised from slabs of broken stones (similar to the hedge earlier) which looks like it's been taken off from the surrounding mountains; I don't think it's marble, but it's definitely not limestone either. It looks as pale as alabaster with streaks of bright orange mud. I think this is what's called _shale_ or just sediment—I don't know. I don't even know why I think of that too much. Perhaps I enjoy thinking too much. _That_ has to stop!

Maybe it's fine to let my mind wander off a little—who knows if it might actually help! I just have to be careful not to stray too much and too far…

After all, just think: made this staircase to make sure I won't slip into the river. He wanted to ensure that I will always stay safe by the river or never get myself in trouble again. Besides that, I know he's trying to assure me that I will be 'normal' around all of this. He had to have made sure that the environment I'm in is controllable, safe and secured—even if he's had to trouble his old dreary bones to maintain this.

I feel myself biting my lip. "I'm sorry, … Grandma. I'll do better next time, I promise!"

I decide to take a quick look. The stone stairs are a little wobbly as I take careful steps downwards, but it's more sturdy at the bottom the last portion, though.

The river is in low tide. It's tempting me with its glittering shine and I can tell how I probably fell into the river. On a hot day like this, a good cold bath doesn't sound so bad but perhaps only when I'm accompanied. I realise that the water is only about as high as my ankle and as I dip my foot it, the current isn't as strong as I imagined. So I take off my shoes and step into the river, feeling the coolness rolling to the top of my head in little shivers of delight. The rocks in the riverbed push up against the base of my foot and the further I sink my feet, the more pressure I feel—like the nudges of a massage. For some reason, I feel a little old…

I think this is how I fell in the river! I was probably trying to enjoy the sunshine in my face and the cool water on my feet that I got distracted. Still, I can't help but feel at ease being in the river. It's so peaceful and calm that if I look up to the sky right now, I'll probably fall asleep standing!

"Rurihime!"

I startle. Did someone just call me? Was I imagining it?

"Rurihime!"

Ah, it _is_ Grandma! Or… is it?

I pull my feet out of the water and stumble my way up the staircase with no shoes, trying to listen better.

"Moko-chan!"

Ack! She _was_ calling me! I wasn't imagining it! And if she's calling me by _that_ name, then—

I quickly yelled back, "Yes, Grandma!?"

"What's taking you so long? Hurry up! I need to make more tea before your grandfather returns!"

"Yes, I'm on my way!"

"You best not play in the river, now! Or I'll have you leashed to the house!"

"I-I got it!"

I hear the door being shut and then I let out a sigh. "That was close! I might just cause myself another accident if I'm not careful!"

Well, at least she sounds alright… for now.

Or is she that good a pretender? Or maybe this was her way of adjusting, to change the subject? I guess there's only one way to find out!

Of course, she has to mean serious business when she starts calling me by that nickname gave me—in fact, it's the name she called me when she got upset earlier. Oh, no! Maybe she will leash me to the house after all!

I get back down the staircase in such a rush that I fall on my bum. The rocks aren't sharp enough to cut, but they sure as the day will bruise and blue me! The pain is dull and faint, but annoying as it is on the base of my body. I guess that's just what happens when you have wet feet. Needless to say, it hurts like hell!

As I trudge my way back to my shoes, I spot two pairs of steel cans chained to a stake of a nail—it must've been nailed there for convenience when the river rises. I pick one up. Most of it has gathered some sand in the bottom so I dipped the one in my hand back into the water for a quick cleanse and fill it up with water. Then I make my way up the staircase slowly to avoid some to spill over but to no avail. In the end, the whole steps were wet with a splash of water and I can see why I need the trolley now. I better put the can on it before I lose any more of the water!

It was harder on the way, though. I keep bumping into stones and raised surfaces—the whole can nearly tip over! And boy, was I glad to see Grandma open the front door when I arrived.

"Where were you just now? What's taking you so long?" she scolds me as she approaches; the second she peers into the can, she places both hands on her hips. "My god, Rurihime! You barely brought me back two pots' worth!?"

I giggle. "Sorry, Grandma! I guess I wasn't strong enough…"

She takes a pause with her eyebrows creased.

"N-no, it's my fault…" she looks away for a second before grabbing the can, "I shouldn't have asked you knowing you were still recovering! This is fine!"

I was too busy trying to gauge her face that I didn't respond as fast as I should. She doesn't seem like she's been crying… or maybe she's _that_ good at hiding it? Or maybe she really just needed to be away from me for a while.

She's staring at my slippers for some reason. "Don't tell me you were in the river?"

I realise that my feet have soaked them on my way here. So I just nod.

"I swear, I will put a leash on you wherever we go! Even at dinner if you keep this up! Now, where's the wood? Eh, you didn't go fetch them?"

"W-wood?"

"I can't start a fire without them, Rurihime!" she reaches out for me and I close my eyes thinking she was going to hit me, but instead she pinches my cheek and tugs on it. " _Mou_ , if there's no fire, there's no boiling water! How could you forget that?"

Ack! It hurts!

"Grandma, stop it! I get it!" I cry out, begging and trying to make her pull away.

As soon as she releases her hand, my cheek starts to throb. But it's a strange feeling. It's like I've been here before. But before I could recognise it completely, she lets me go and pat them at the same time instead—undoubtedly intensifying the searing of my twisted tissue cells. It burns, even when it shouldn't hurt as much. Maybe I'm just insecure and all my melancholy does is amplifying however small a pain I feel.

My vision blurs, drowning in a container of tears. I bit my lips as she looks angrily at me.

She begins with a sigh, "Rurihime, I love you dearly but your recklessness pains me! I only wish that you care for me in a way that lessens my worry, if only a little! Just…"

"I know. I'm sorry," I mumble, rubbing my eyes from annoying tears. "I _am_ careful, I promise!"

"You're lucky now, but you're not lucky all the time, dear!"

"I know _that_! Grandma, please, I'm sorry. I promise I'll be careful from now on. I'll think of you… in everything that I do."

Then, it hits me like a strange tidal wave, like the arrival of seasons, the sudden awareness of heat hidden in light.

 _Think before you do_ , Grandma used to say that!

"Grandma," I grab onto her hands and look her straight in the eye—I hope she'll feel relieved by this! "You know what you used to say, right? _Think before you do_! I'll do that—always, from now on!"

She bites her lip. Her eyes are glistening.

Slowly, her lips unravel into a gentle smile. She nods.

"That's right!" she pats my head, "Now go get some firewood before your grandfather and our guest come over!"

I nod happily. The tears in my eyes are now of pure bliss.

I actually remembered something right! Yay!

I grab hold of the trolley after Grandma took the water bucket and walk off with a spring in my steps—well, careful _springs_! Let's not give her a heart attack scare over whatever I do!

As I try not to indulge the elation with high and clumsy skips (somehow I think I'm just super prone to accidents!), I hum my happiness in a nameless song with a tune that's light and cheery as the emotion I'm now carrying. Still, try as I may, the feeling is overwhelmingly infectious. Every second swells my heart more and more with joy and excitement, and it's just anxious at knowing whether I'll ever get the next chance to feel the same thing all over again—perhaps over a different situation or matter!

Oh, I wish I will! I wanna keep this positivity alive for as long as possible until then, too!

I realise I was further away from the shed when I spot the river in front of me again—again, skipping with joy sure had me distracted! I'll blame it on the wonderful sunlight for now!

I traced back my steps in reverse, still smiling widely as I open up the shed doors—looks like has left plenty of chopped firewood in stock! Lucky, for I don't know what would happen if I'd have to chop them for myself (or Grandma for that matter!). But that's just like him: always keeping us safe. That's right, I'm going to be more careful for _them_ both because they're working so hard to keep me.

I reach out for the wood, log by log, and settle it down on the trolley.

By the fifth piece, I feel a little tired out. It's strange, it shouldn't affect me so badly—

why do I get tired so easily? is it because of my injury? have I pushed myself too much with this so simple a chore?

Oh, come on!

I sit down on the side of the trolley and sigh. Then I breathe in and out, trying to still this nervousness away. In and out. In, out.

In and—

"Words have been spreading of movement in the West. There're over 50,000 men spotted moving towards Konoha and we're lying in the middle, my friend. Taniyama is preparing for the worst already and _you_ need to evacuate, Jun! You're the farthest from the village and you have a good smack of land! You'll definitely be the first target they'd want to take over! You must leave for safety!"

I hold my breath.

"I can't leave," Grandpa sounds dejected. "How could I ever leave my own land? I've worked hard for it! Just because a bunch of hot-headed ninjas decided to parry some kunais and want more development over the other ninja nation, I'm supposed to leave my whole life behind and give them away to wreak havoc and chaos?"

"Only temporary, my friend. Your land will still be here when you get back! But you can't stay here and be prisoners!" I assume this must be the doctor he was talking about before.

Grandpa is quiet, but I can still hear his disappointment in the way he's breathing rapidly.

"Jun, you have a wife that's too old to spar," the doctor explains, "And a granddaughter that's almost at the ripe age of ninja-hood! You _are_ in grave danger of losing control over their Fate if you choose to remain on your land."

"What possible options do I have?"

"Well, evacuate to Taniyama first. You and your wife can remain there—safety in numbers, my friend. And your granddaughter—"

"I will not make a bloodthirsty ninja out of her! No way!"

The doctor is silent this time.

"These wars are good for nothing! They _change_ us! Transforming us into killers! I don't want that to be her future!"

"You know that's the only secure one she could have. It assures her survival."

I'm choked.

"By killing others?"

"She doesn't have to kill and you know it!"

I let out a gasp, so I cover my mouth.

There's a _war_ coming?

Is that why Grandpa was so agitated lately? Is this what he was referring to when Grandma was asking him about it? Is this the truth he's trying to delay from me? From us all?

Grandpa grumbles something. "I can't. I won't allow it!"

"Jun, please," the doctor sighs, his voice is moving further and further away—but it remains loud, perhaps because of what he's speaking about. "Taniyama has a basic academy meant for her. If she starts now, like the rest of the children, she'll be allowed to remain as a normal citizen with a ninja starting career—that's good, it'll keep her safe from the actual war."

He sounds a bit unclear, so I stand and move closer to the door and take a peek.

He looks more like a village shaman than what I would think a doctor should look like! (But how should a doctor look like after all?) He's got long jet-black hair, grown long past his shoulders; his moustache and sideburns were really heavy, too! With stubbles everywhere and a pair of eyebrows to match the thickness of his facial hair, I think it's hard to think of him as a doctor. In fact, if he wasn't wearing any old glasses, I would think he was shaman indeed! His clothes were prim and proper, though—for a village man; still, it looked modern for a village doctor. It was a matching blue coat and tattered pants with a plain white shirt underneath that surely have seen better days.

I watch as Grandpa pace back and forth, all around the doctor—thinking.

"Only in preparation for another war in the future!" he cries out suddenly.

"Heaven forbid _not_ anytime soon! Look, for now, let's save her from this present prospects—as you should be!"

"Of course, of course!" crouches down and rubs his head. "It feels like only yesterday I got to have her… and now this war is coming!"

He gets up and starts walking away.

I want to ask him what's going on. I want to know how bad the situation is.

"I can't do this," he mumbles. "She's _all_ I've got!"

What about Grandma, oji-chan?

What do you mean _just_ me?

"I can't just—this family must stick together no—I will not have—she must be—I have to care for her—and Ranko will be devastated—how—"

His voice is unclear and I can't hear more of what he's talking about.

Even as the doctor was speaking, his voice is far and unintelligible from my distance.

I creep out of the shed, but in doing so, the door pushed the trolley in and towards the pile of chopped firewoods. I turn, but it was too late!

They roll over and tumble down like a waterfall domino.

I gasp. All the woods are now on the ground in a mess!

"Is someone there?" Grandpa's voice is right behind me.

 _Crap!_

He looks mad, confused, distraught and surprised.

I shouldn't be listening to that conversation, right?

"H-hey, _oji-chan_ ," I wave at him, but he looks really mad now.

The doctor waved at me, though.

I guess that's a good start, right?

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** 3/12/19 - Edited. Glad I made the doctor looking like a familiar character from another manga—was kind a hint to how strange this world Momoko is living in now. ^^;

Also, I recently found my old Naruto fanfiction backup, arts, etc. It was really fun to reminisce my 14-year-old self writing Naruto and fangirling over every character I liked (mostly Akatsuki members or a guy who used to be a bad guy! lol) My first Naruto episode was the Chunnin Exam one—Naruto vs. Neji. After Gaara vs Naruto, I was hooked! It made me cry and think Naruto should be my boyfriend—mostly because I need the cheering up and positivity back then. Middle school had gone to shit after high school. lol What about you guys? XD


	5. 1-4

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I do not own Naruto or the materials associated with the manga/anime franchise. What I do own is this story in part or whole, the plot and set-up of the plot, and original characters that came with it.

* * *

 **The River Between Two Oceans  
** 1-4

I know well enough to keep my mouth shut, especially since the air is so thick, dense and heavy—a strange blend of remorse interlacing with helpless fear and defeat. It's hard to breathe in deeply and enjoy the soothing relief it offers, afraid for it to be mistaken as rude calmness and so short-lifted. The oxygen in the air tastes stale as if it had really expired, drained off of the life it was promised. Such swift and certain instruction from one blatant action!

Clearly I just heard something that Grandpa wasn't ready to share with me for reasons I'm not even sure myself. I mean, we're living in a world of ninjas for Heaven's sake! Surely as farmers, there's barely anything we can do against them or their way of doing things, right?

Strange, I only realised this just now but the fact weighs true to me as if I'd known it all along…

and I feel that this isn't the first time I've ever been so antsy on this issue like this isn't even our first fight about it.

 _Ninja_. _Shinobi_. I know the dangers that lurk within the word or within their shady world, behind every shifty and cunning encounter with them. I know what lies behind those words: the sound of the lightest steps, the clashes of steel and the thuds of hardened muscles. Then there's, of course, the essence of a shinobi, the core of being in control and manipulation of the energy called _chakras_ , the creed behind the mastery of _yin_ and _yang_ , and the way of the Sage of Six Paths. I know what the word or embodiment of ninjas or shinobis means, but the conviction in whatever knowledge I have on them seemed already decided within me long ago.

This sensation can't any weirder—I'm fairly certain now that I've been switched into a body with experience and memories that I have zero connection with!

As if I'm only aware and in control of the present consciousness, but not of the experience itself. No, maybe this injury has left me disconnected from this body. Who knows? Indeed, only time will tell.

It's like having something I already agreed on explained to me, even though I needed no explanation. Like knowing the sky is blue and always coming up with different names to the same colour—even when it still means the thing. _A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet_ , right? (Now where did _that_ come from?!) I do wonder how many more things will come back to me like this… And will I always be surprised by them every single time or does the surprise only get bigger as more things reveal themselves to me?

"How are you, Momo-chan?" A deep voice burrowed its way into my daydreaming ears.

 _Peach._ He just called me 'little peach'.

I look up to find the doctor smiling widely at me as if his confrontation with Grandpa never happened. "Fine, other than—" my eyes stray to Grandpa.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," the doctor sheepishly scratches his scruffy jaw. "I shouldn't be talking about it in front of you… Right, Jun?"

Grandpa stops short right by the front door; "Right," was all he says back before he knocks on it.

I lower my head back again.

Why's he so upset about it?

It's not like we could avoid it, right? If the situation deems it necessary for us to evacuate, surely we have to be reasonable and leave, right? I wanted to ask so badly that I could hear myself asking—my lips, however, remained sealed shut. It was as if I knew it was futile to ask, but still, my current subconscious is devouring my logic and whatever semblance of reason I'm left with.

I can now hear Grandma answering the door from afar.

I know I had very little time to react to this—hopefully I make an impression that doesn't catch the doctor off guard. I mean, asking for his name may be too much with it having the potential of being so shocking that it would scare him. After all, he seems on friendly terms with me to even call me by a nickname!

Perhaps it is just harsh reality—no more merciful than the fact that we live in a world of ninjas and we sure can do nothing about it.

Or that I can't do anything about this feeling, this detachment with this body and perhaps the injury simply had everything to do with it.

Ugh! Come on, just go with it!

"U-um," I struggle with my emotions—words pulled itself back to the back of my throat as soon as my lips moved.

"What is it?" The doctor pauses and crouches to my level.

Grandpa is looking at me, too. His face is marred between fury and curiosity.

"Wha-Um… What's your name, Mr Doctor*?" I try to smile as hard as I can, but the nervousness is obvious in my shaky tone and twitching eyes.

The doctor's face, once a smiling canvas behind unkempt facial hairs, suddenly becomes stern and strict as if overtaken by a frost that spread ice across all surfaces of water.

He hums a response and stands back up, not looking at me. But his face is now directed to my Grandpa, "Jun, let's talk seriously about this."

Grandpa is caught off guard with it, but he just nods.

I'm standing between them in even more confusion—what's wrong with telling children some ounce of truth? Not like I'm going to die or kill myself if I can't handle it!

I stomp my foot and try to speak up, "Wha—"

"Dr Kyohei, welcome!" Grandma opens the door and greets him, effectively interrupting me nor the two men from saying anything more. "It's so good to see you again! Please, come in. Make yourself at home!"

Dr Kyohei smiles, nods and walks in first; then it's Grandpa, who pulls his wife to the side and whispers something in her ear. She doesn't respond. In fact, she only bites her lips and looks away from him.

I don't know what else to do, to be honest.

"Hey, Grandma," I coo and try my best to smile—an effort to blend out of this estranged stress between us, "I brought you some firewood as requested!"

She smiles at me, even though her eyebrows remain knitted together. "Good girl, Rurihime-chan. I already made enough for one pot with my leftovers, so let's just stash that by the door for now. Come on, let the doctor have a good look at you, alright?"

I nod.

Inside the house, the dense air from earlier is now a vacuum. It's hardly breathable here, not just for my lungs but my mind is stuck in a perpetual trap of awkward tension. Even if my own tension is only a small part of this denseness, the tension between Grandpa and the doctor only worsens as if they are two colliding black holes. And I know Grandma can tell this—whatever he whispered to her, she knows something is bound to happen between them.

Perhaps like me, whatever it is, was waiting for the right time to strike.

"Come here, Momo-chan," Dr Kyohei takes a seat on one of the cushion where Grandma and I were having brunch earlier. "I need to examine that bump on your head."

I nod again.

I approach him without hesitation, pretending as if I really did know him. But he could tell I was uncomfortable.

"Clearly you've hit your head too hard," he chuckles a small talk.

I smile at that, but suffered some kind of pining when I did—maybe it was normalcy that I missed. Maybe I was missing having a conversation with someone I know or about something I know…

But how to be normal when I don't even know what normal is?

I shrug it off as I mumble, "I guess."

"You really don't remember me at all?" he asks, eyes growing bigger with every syllable he speaks.

"Well, at least I… I mean, I remember Grandpa and Grandma. It must mean something right?"

He nods thoughtfully. "You're right on that!"

"I do wonder when I'll remember everything else," I mutter to myself as he kneads on my head slowly, "I try to remember but the more I force it, the more it seems to hurt my head."

"Curious indeed. Did you know that the brain doesn't have any pain receptors? It means that the brain itself doesn't feel any pain. Only its muscular covering that's hurting—"

Hah. Why do I feel like I know _exactly_ what he means?

Have we really spoken before? About this?

"—technically, it just means that your head is hurting. But that shouldn't come from trying to remember."

"So what's wrong with me then?" I look him in the eye as I say this.

"Momo-chan," he gently ruffles up my hair, "I think you've been pushing yourself too hard! Try not to force the memories from coming back."

"But I'm confused if I don't remember anything!"

"Well, for one thing, I'm glad you're able to see and hear or speak at all! You've bumped your head on the front part of it—which is probably why your memory is affected."

"Will she remember at all?" Grandpa jumps in this time. His voice is urgent as if he wanted to get rid of the question and the doctor at the same time.

Grandma eases the tension when she realises her rudeness and quickly apologises; she scurries by the doctor and pours him a drink. "We think only for her wellbeing, Kyohei-sensei," she quips as she hands him a cup, "Please, tell us what we can do for her!"

"On that part, you'll have to ask Jun!" the doctor glances at Grandpa—it was a brief glare, but at my distance, I could tell. "I'm afraid that she may be suffering from some kind of swelling if it is painful for her to even try to remember anything. For now, we can thank Heavens that her hearing and sight is alright—it may just mean that the swelling is only affecting the front part of her brain where memory is stored."

I know what that is, too. I know that the memory part of the brain is located on what is called the _frontal lobe_. It's behind the phenomenon where people look up when trying to remember something like the body tries to access that area in an effort to dig in for memory. I know that what's called _prefrontal cortex_ , the topmost part of the lobe itself, determines social behaviour moderation and that people with psychotic or anti-social behaviours have problems in this area of their brains. I know what the part of the brain that controls vision is called too: the _occipital lobe_ , which is located at the back of the head.

How do I know what _psychotic_ means? How do I know which part of the brain functions in what way? And where do I get all these names?

I'm afraid to tell them that I know or ask them how I could've known because that may make them even more confused.

Or make myself confused too.

Why would I know such things anyway? Did I use to play around with the doctor? As a 5-year-old farmer's granddaughter, it didn't make whatever sense I could gather at this time. Just how did I manage to learn all this as a child anyway?

"On the other hand," Dr Kyohei's voice beckons me back from my reverie. "The swelling could continue to affect other parts of her brain. But I don't want to be there to see it happening!"

Grandma gasps. "Oh, my! What should we do then, Kyohei-sensei?"

"I've brought some turmeric and devil's claw potion—it should help quell the inflammation. I would suggest that she stays clear from any heat and try her best to cool her head down."

"The water's cool enough this time of year," Grandpa interjects.

"Well, not for much longer," the doctor glares as he's saying this.

"Your point being?"

"The potion I've brought is enough only for the next two days. The oncoming war—"

"I thought we agreed not to speak of this," Grandpa makes a quick glance at me as he speaks.

But the doctor doesn't care anymore. "Jun, wake up, for Heaven's sake! I have to speak of it—it only is going to affect us for God knows how long!"

"What do you mean?" Grandma was the one who asks this time; even when Grandpa is calling out to her in a reprimand of sorts, she shakes her head at him. "What news of the war? Are we evacuated?"

Doctor Kyohei glances at each of our faces—mine longest. As if he knew I had no choice in the matter he was going to discuss and that scares him. "It's bad," he begins slowly and his voice stammers a little like a leaf against the wind. "It's _real_ bad, Ranko. Words say we've been taken over by Iwagakure forces from the North. There have been minimal casualties, but Kusagakure can no longer rely on Konoha."

The _Hidden Grass_ village has been relying on shinobis from _Hidden Leaf_ , but no more…

So how do we intend to fend for ourselves?

"What kind of forces are we talking about?" Grandma continues to prod.

"We don't need to worry about the ones taking over Kusagakure, Ranko. We can survive war through diplomacy as we always have, but that depends on just how willing we are to invest our effort in it."

I suspect that last line was meant for Grandpa, so I steal a glance at him. True enough, he looks extremely angry: fists clenched and lips downturned.

"At the very least, diplomacy takes care of us administration wise. But we need to start worrying about our children and their future! While the foreign forces are trying to use our land as a halfway station to Konoha, how will we make an escape for our children other than—"

"That's enough!" Grandpa interferes.

I startle at that—his voice seems to boom across the house's threshold, shaking everything in it.

Including my resolve.

"No, Jun! Please," his wife stops him this time. She shakes her head and points her finger at him, "I know it pains you to know there's another war coming, but we cannot do anything about it! And we need to make sure Momoko is spared from as much suffering as possible!"

He is silenced by that.

The doctor nods, "Jun, I know you've injured yourself from the First Shinobi War, but…"

"I am trying to spare my granddaughter from a fate like my own," Grandpa mutters beneath his long sigh; he reaches for his hand and kneads on his left one as if soothing an old wound still ringing with pain.

I could almost feel it, too—whatever that was.

Clearly he means well for me… but the odds are against him. Against us.

Doctor Kyohei shakes his head, "Things may've changed for the children if they joined the Academy now."

"No, things never changed that easily—most especially war."

"My dear friend, you're in a bind now. Even if they're not ordering for citizens to be conscripted and you could possibly escape it due to your injury, your granddaughter will be painted with a target on her back if you don't let her volunteer to the Academy."

Grandpa looks away.

"Doctor, tell me which of the forces we should worry more about?" my Grandma asks this as she looks at me.

"Indeed, a valid question," Doctor Kyohei sighs. "This war is said to be caused mainly by Amegakure—Hanzo the Salamander has led a so-called revolution in his country. This man is bad news! He's a one-man army, wreaking havoc and chaos wherever he goes—killing even his own countrymen!"

"How many dead so far?"

"Who knows? Hanzo kills indiscriminately without any compassion! He's been merciless in the filthiness of his cause!"

"Is Konoha going to do anything about it at all?"

"That depends. Iwa has been fortifying its borders and surely will take advantage of Ame's actions by unleashing men in the masses with only one heading—Konoha."

So _Hidden Rocks_ village is hell-bent on attacking Hidden Leaf. I suppose it's safe to say that they're archenemies. But what about this Hanzo fella? Who is he and just how strong is he?

"My God!" Grandma's distraught was obvious; her hands began to tremble and Grandpa had to hold her still just to keep her steady. "But what's going to happen to us? Is Konoha going to—"

"Konoha is preparing for war already. They have Kirigakure and Sunagakure to worry about as well—so I doubt they can pay much attention to us farmers!"

 _Hidden Mist_ and _Hidden Sand_ too!?

This war… It's a big one! There's no way we could—

"What about Taniyama? What's happened to everyone? What about the Atsudas, Kobayashis, Nakamuras?"

I wonder who they're talking about.

The doctor shrugs his stiff shoulders; "The Kobayashis and Nakamuras left about a week ago. The Shimizus, Haradas, Moris, Maedas are still in town—they're planning to leave with the Atsudas by the end of next week."

I look up when he suddenly stops talking.

He turns his attention back to me now, "You do remember them, right, Momo-chan? The Atsudas: Emiko and Kotarou were your best friends."

Ah, crap. Must he ask me this?

My mind is spinning, ears buzzing and hands shaking.

"Emiko? Kotarou?" It's clear from my saying those names that I have absolutely no clue as to who or what they are to me. I bite my lip as I wait for his reaction.

Grandma looks worried more than ever.

Doctor Kyohei's furrowed eyebrows couldn't crumble his face further. "Jun, this is very serious! You don't intend to let her memories rot like this—definitely not with this oncoming war! Look, I have more access to medicine in Taniyama and you know she needs it! _And_ she needs to be with the rest of the children if she is to recover properly!"

Everyone looks to Grandpa now.

He stands there in the middle of the room, his right hand still threading his wounded arm as he muses deeply in thought.

When he finally moves his lips, he calls out to me, "Moko-chan."

 _That_ name means urgency and my body memorises how I tensed up whenever I'm called with that.

So I gasp, snapping my head up to him and hold my breath.

"Yes, _oji_ - _chan_?" I manage a reply.

"Could you please leave us for a moment?"

I could feel my eyes widen.

Half of me is disappointed that I'm asked to leave and miss the rest of the show, though the other half is actually relieved.

I'm relieved because I know nothing about who or what they were talking about and the fear reels itself in swift, awash over me like a cold and icy water on a hot day—like finding your fishing rod hooked to a shark or dolphin. It's confusing because I do feel frightened not knowing what people are talking about and how it affects me at all. I know full well that it will affect me somehow and it scares me even worst to think that I don't know how it should be worrying me.

Ah, well, what can I say?

Maybe this amnesia will stick around with me—I might as well get used to feeling super dazed by this confusion! Or maybe I will get my memories and when I do, I won't even remember how puzzling I felt!

I lower my head in a drooping nod for the doctor.

Then I start moving away from them and as I open the front door, everyone is watching me leave—it's a little awkward for me to handle!

"I-I'm going off then," I mutter as I sneak my way out the door.

Maybe it was my imagination or maybe it was just the door, but I thought I heard a long sigh being let out as if everyone had been holding bated breaths and can finally release it. No one speaks yet as if they wanted to give me enough time to leave.

But I don't know where to go.

Who knows what might come my way, right?

No, I know it was rude to stay or try eavesdropping.

I know I needed to move but my body feels like it was nailed to this spot right here, right in front of the front door—catatonic in mind and body. I start to feel numb. My emotions are unfolding into the unknown, unidentifiable to me as if it has decided to become a stranger and I am a voyeur to my own metamorphosing state of being. That confusion I felt earlier is no longer a hazy fog in my mind, but rippling waves across a body of calm water and dispersing into a slow death.

When I finally moved, my steps drag across the pavement, the grass and occasional stones.

There's a war coming. The reality of its sure existence is sinking into my subconscious; all the sweat and tears I held back dive straight down my pores as heavy as lead and quantifying pounds to my muscle the more that I think about it. Maybe better not to think of anything at all!

I try not to fall prey to my own mind and cheer myself up by bobbing my head.

My glances skim over to a number of things I already discovered: the fruits farm, the orchid shed, the stone border, the trees, the wooden shed then the river. The tide has risen and the water glides even faster over the river bedrocks—I decided it was a bad idea for a swim and trudge ahead along the riverbank. Deep down, I feel the fear of drowning and I shudder at the thought.

On my journey up this slope, I'm greeted by the sight of a hill filled with more trees—high and mighty. So dense it looked like it was a cave of trees, dark as it would be at twilight!

I start hearing different things, too.

The animals beckon each other more confidently as though they're aware of the lesser danger of being home within the essence of tranquility and peace. Here, they can be sure of no disturbance or unsuspecting visitors. Here, they can do whatever they want without worrying about the repercussions. No humans, no predators, no weather nor tide to predict. The birds cawing with each other, the bugs chirping in a continuous song, the squirrels scampering from one branch to another and then a very light, lyrical voice singing in various intonation as a human would.

It wasn't normal like the rest of it. There was no reply to this song—a solo act, a soliloquy, a poem to nature itself.

I look up to the trees, trying to find the source.

Then there it was.

An odd bird.

It looks like heron.

But it was glowing—no, enveloped in a sapphire flame!

Like it was on fire or the core center of a will-o'-the-wisp. It doesn't look like it was hurt by it nor as if it was a ghost. It wasn't a phantom with a see-through body. If I could touch it, I do wonder if I would burn or if it would just dissipate into the air and disappear forevermore.

"Just what are you?"

The bird stops singing. It looks down upon me. " _Well, what do you think I am?"_

"Well, you're a bird, obviously!"

I stop.

I back away and stumble down. "Wait, you can talk?!"

Ironically, the bird stares back at me like I was growing another head.

" _What else do you think I'm doing?"_

"Am I dreaming? No, I must be imagining things."

" _Nope, sorry, kid. You're not imagining things at all! I_ am _talking to ya'."_

By now I'm too scared to respond, so I just stare at it.

" _Okay, now you're creeping me out."_

"W-Wait!" I hold my hands up as it was flapping its wings, "At least tell me what you are!"

The bird cocks its head to one side. " _What do you think I am? A figment of your imagination? A heron? A kingfisher?"_

"Nah, you're too big to be a kingfisher."

" _Ah, you know a thing or two about birds, eh?"_

I freeze. Wait, I do?

"I-I don't know," I lower my head and my hand instinctively reaches out for my head, "I may've been… I mean, maybe I was… before—"

" _Before?"_

"I drowned in the river a few days ago… and I bumped my head in the river and then I can't remember much of who I am."

" _Huh. That sounds troubling, alright!"_

"And now there's a war coming…"

" _Tell me about it! I had to leave my home because of several men were scavenging the mountains!"_

I look to the bird now. "Hold on, where do you live?"

" _Up on the Aoyama."_

"You lived there?! Wait, why did you leave? No one would bother you there!"

The bird scoffs. " _Unfortunately, I am a source of power that cannot be simply be left open for the taking. I need to escape from people trying to catch me if they ever found out what I am. And most of the time, war's a good place to use me and I don't fancy that idea."_

"So you escaped… Wait, you still haven't told me what you are!"

" _The name's Aosagi,_ " the bird flies down and lands right before me; it bows slightly. " _At your service!"_

 _Blue heron_. The name sounds so familiar, though.

 _Aosaginobi_. Or blue heron fire.

"Well, Aosagi," I waved at it, "My name is Momoko! Nice to meet you!"

" _Momoko? Like Momotaro?"_

I gasp.

Why didn't I think of _that_ before?

Momotaro was the name of the boy in old folklore. He was baby born from a peach that was stranded in the riverbank and found by an old couple, who later took him in as their own. Later on, he took up the calling to slay an island filled with demons with his band of warrior friends.

Was that really my name? Or was I named after the legend?

" _You kind of look like a peach now that I think about it!"_

I shake the dark thoughts from my head and think back to the talking bird in front of me.

" _What with your coral hair and all!"_

I lower my head further and reach out for the strands of shoulder-length that falls into my palm; the soft, copper-reddish tone does look a bit like a peach skin. My weird coloured eyes that I didn't remember to have may also remind you of peach seed too—although, the amber isn't as yellow and more earthy brown than that. Maybe I am essentially a _peach_ girl.

"So what powers do you have exactly?" I ask as I crouch down.

The bird flaps its wings and the gush of wind swirling from that was warm and kind. " _I am basically a source of fire. I'm good with starting a fire!"_

So in other words, it's a pyromaniac.

I take a good look at it now.

It stands two feet tall from the ground. At the topmost of its crown, it had black feathers running down its back and tail like hair or a ponytail. Essentially, it has the anatomy of a normal Black-crowned Night Heron but with ethereal elements; the chest is scaly and glistening like the fishes in the river or fabled dragon scales. The blue hue, almost green in some shade, in its long feathers and tail is more surreal now that I'm only inches away.

" _What're you doing?"_ Aosagi takes a step back.

I gasp, realising that I was almost touching it.

"Oh, sorry…"

" _If you touch me without a contract, I'll end up killing ya', kid!"_

A contract?

" _Geez! Don't do that! I know a war is coming, but don't be suicidal because of that!"_

"Sorry, I-I didn't know…" I pout at it.

Aosagi growls at me. " _I'm not your average animal! Nor an average summon! No one is supposed to even know I existed!"_

"Then why did you appear before me?"

" _Hm, I don't know. I guess I… kind of feel drawn towards ya'…"_

I nod. "I feel drawn to you, too. Maybe we're both not where we belong."

" _Hey,"_ the bird looks up to me and leaps closer, examining my face. " _Those moles on your jaw… they look like…"_

Moles? On my jaw?

I feel my chin and reach out for my right jaw, feeling the skin on it. I briefly recall how I looked like in the river and remember these look a little odd, too. They remind me of the three stars on a constellation—Orion's Belt. Or maybe even Hydra.

I stare at Aosagi who's staring back.

" _Kid, I'm gonna try something I haven't tried with anyone in a long time…"_

"Is it dangerous?"

" _It should be! But if what I suspect is right, you won't need to be alarmed!"_

I nod. "Okay, I guess I have to trust you."

" _Worse comes to worst, we'll contract each other_."

"What?"

" _Nothing—just let me try this… Stay very still now!_ " Aosagi jumps closer to me.

For some reason, I'm inclined to reach out for it. My finger slips past its gentle blue flame, warm and tender. It doesn't hurt at all.

" _Strange,"_ it speaks and steps closer to me. " _You're not hurt by my flame!"_

I continue to play with my hands, gliding it over the edges of the blue fire and then dive in for its head.

Aosagi is caught off guard by that.

" _No one's ever petted me since—"_

"Moko-chan!"

We both startle.

My hand zips away from Aosagi and it flips itself back in shock.

We're both panting in relief.

"That's Grandpa," I say as I get up. "I have to go now!"

Aosagi sighs. " _I'll probably never see you again, huh?"_

"I don't know. Grandpa doesn't want me in the war."

" _Wise, but futile. The war is going to spread everywhere… Even those without direct affiliation to it will be affected by its leftovers. You need to get strong, kid. And when you're ready, come find me again."_

"How will I ever find you again?"

We ignore Grandpa screaming for my name. He's getting closer, though.

" _I'm your will-o'-the-wisp, kid. If what's on your jaw is right, you'll find me somehow."_

The moles?

I reach out for my jaw again. What do these moles mean? And why does Aosagi think this is important?

"What do these moles mean?" I mumble.

" _That's an explanation for another time,"_ Aosagi flaps its wings and takes off, just as Grandpa finds me. " _Until then, kid!"_

"Moko-chan!" he huffs as he grabs onto my arm.

"H-Hey, Grandpa!"

"Why didn't you answer me? I was so worried something happened to you!"

"Ah, sorry. I was just—"

Will I ever find Aosagi again?

And if I do, will it answer all of my questions—like why does it think these moles on my face mean something? And why doesn't it hurt when I reach out for that blue flame? Why is it not an average animal or _summon_? When was the last time someone petted its head?

So many strange things have been happening to me over and over.

But I'm no closer to finding out the answers!

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** 3/12/19 - Edited as much as I could on the grammar, syntax and spellings. I may have to edit plot wise (although I added the name of another constellation).

*Mr Doctor - Reference to Dr Strange here. And Dr Kyohei looks like the father of a man character of another manga. Can you guess who? ;)

Thank you for your reviews! I enjoyed reading them! :)


	6. 1-4 BONUS

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I do not own Naruto or the materials associated with the manga/anime franchise. What I do own is this story in part or whole, the plot and set-up of the plot, and original characters that came with it.

* * *

 **The River Between Two Oceans**

1-4

Bonus

As soon as young Momoko stepped out of the door, Dr Kyohei lets out a long and heavy breath of relief. He wasn't the only one, of course; Ranko nearly choked herself having failed to let go just one breath—not even to swallow!

Yet, no one was ready to talk. At that moment, it was as if they had a silent agreement on the convention of _'what to do with adult conversations around children'_ and that they should give Momoko a very deep, resonating beat of silence before they could really, _really_ talk. Then again, she wasn't exactly a naughty child who would try and take a listen. Most of the content of this talk will be half-understood by a child anyway since they know so little about the information and parties involved in the war. This separation indeed was meant to lessen Momoko's confusion and disorientation in however small a way it can be lessened.

In truth, the silence wasn't just her, but also for the adults as well—so they could collect their thoughts before they really have a go at it. This talk wasn't going to be censored, filtered or adulterated in any way. This was news on the future Shinobi War as it happens.

But who shall speak first indeed?

In his mind, Dr Kyohei knew Ranko was waiting to unleash her mind on this matter. She doesn't have nor gets the most chance to speak freely considering her household situation and being so far isolated from town, to finally get to speak of the news must be terrifying to her.

"Back to the war then I suppose," the good doctor takes up every courage he could muster and addresses the old couple before him. "Jun, I—"

"What has Kusagakure been up to? Is Taniyama to yield so easily?" but Jun beat him to it, it seems.

"My friend, you think too highly of Taniyama to think that it means as much to Kusa."

"Well, I am a farmer and most of what I've worked on this land has contributed to Kusagakure at some point."

"Agreed. But as much as we pay our dues – perhaps much more efficiently than some other small village – we are at war and war, as you know it too well, is unpredictable. Kusa is not barring any holds!"

"And? What exactly is the strategy?"

"What do you think is the strategy, after the famine that came over us 3 years ago? Half of the world still barely recovers from the First Shinobi World War and Kusa never truly did! I hear it's been forced to elicit help from a very unexpected fiend, assisting in provided space and cover for their unruly purposes—whatever they may be."

Jun looks surprised at that. "What? Which fiend?"

"The one who's been fighting everyone, of course—Hanzo is his name."

"Hanzo of the Salamander? We're living _that_ close with that fiend up our asses and you didn't think to say anything?"

Dr Kyohei bites his lip—he wasn't sure if he liked Jun's tone, but he understands the frustration. "Look, I can't say I planned it. It was all rumours until I hear about Iwa-nins infiltrating our Northern borders and Ame-nin in the South. Iwa has a different reason than Ame for doing what it's doing, of course."

"You mean, it just ultimately wants to a one-to-one with Konoha?"

"Yeah, you know how it is with all this _bad blood_!"

"Surely Taniyama is not looking to Hanzo for an olive branch."

"Of course not! We're looking to all sides for our own olive branch."

Jun shrugs. "I don't like war for its dirty political backdoor fights! So, what's next then—are we to yield to Hanzo with Iwa on our backs going against Konoha?"

"Something like that. I didn't think Hanzo has much to play in our threshold," the doctor sits down, slumped on the cushion seat before he takes a good sip from his tea that Ranko left on the floor. "But it would seem that he has foreseen Konoha's involvement due to Iwa's movement into our midst. It would appear that Iwa has found some clues to… a thing's existence, so it is mainly in our land for two birds with one stone after all."

" _Two_ birds?" It was clear Jun didn't enjoy Dr Kyohei's dramatic pauses.

"As you know, the First Shinobi World War has distributed Bijūs around the world. It would seem that Iwa has found traces of new information of a different kind of Bijū—well, they still don't know what it is and if it should be called that at all. Historically, there are and only have been 9 Bijūs in total. It would seem Iwa has found a creature of that sort of caliber in Kusagakure."

It was Ranko who gasped. "Tailed beasts again?" Her speech is slurred, out of breath as if she was asthmatic. "H-How do they intend to—oh, my! What will happen to us all?"

"That's a question with varying answer, Ranko. First, the rumours on who started the war just meant one thing—Konoha always have asserted its position at all times, yet no one was really sure why or how it started. But since powers like Bijūs are involved, it means another thing entirely!"

Jun nods to that. "It certainly paints a _very_ different picture…"

"Indeed! As you know, Bijūs are a source of power worth vetting and fighting for. We always assumed that this is the reason that nations are still and will always be at war with each other. I suppose, upon hearing that here in Kusa, such an item of interest to Iwa actually existed, Hanzo saw this as an opportunity like any other. He needs to exert his prowess amidst all this Bijū talk and formed a treaty with us to allow some kind of assertion of his power. Of course, Konoha is pitting itself against Hanzo just as well as fending off Iwa in our backyard… But the trouble of war still lurks," the doctor takes a well-timed break.

Ranko sits down next to him, looking very eager to ask him something as if to change her subject but—

"So then, just what sort of powers are they seeking out now?" it was Jun who cuts her in, rendering her startled and when she glanced at him, she could sense he was simply overwhelmed by his own curiosity.

Dr Kyohei looks to her with a severity that appeared like ice on a winter's dusk, spreading out across his face like frostbite and then he turns to Jun.

"D'you remember back when," he speaks in a low voice, mumbling as if he was trying to piece his words together with sips of air. "Old Man Yasashi went off to the mountains for some swallow nests and he said he was attacked by _something_?"

"A warm draft he said, didn't he?"

"A warm draft hits him while he was climbing, but then when he stumbled down, he saw a… glowing bluebird."

" _Aosagi_ , you mean?"

"Stuff of legends, that one. But no one has ever actually seen it to confirm its existence. When Old Man Yasashi came up with that story, people went up the Aoyama just to get a glimpse and eventually everyone told the same story over and over again—each time their story never coincides as they all happen at separate times and places. The anecdotes, however, was convincing enough for some Iwa-nins to explore."

"Now I wouldn't expect that, to be honest!"

"Neither did I! I suppose the appeal is there after all… If _Aosagi_ was real, then this other source of power will be Iwa's next aim to Konoha's destruction. But speaking of which, didn't you go with a group of men who went up the Aoyama last time?"

Jun looks surprised that the doctor actually remembers, glancing to his wife before finally nodding. "Yes, but I only sent them off before the mountain pass—I never actually went up the Aoyama…"

" _Really_? Not once since you got here after the First Shinobi War?"

"Nope, I never was a curious fellow I guess."

"Not even the least bit curious?"

"If it helps," Jun shrugs his shoulders as he laughs, "I did go fishing in the deeper routes of the mountain river… There are _and_ have been strange sounds in those parts. A bird that sang melodies of human tongue, always disappearing when you approach. I may not have seen the _Aosagi_ , but I believe I may've heard its presence every once in a while."

"Well, it's been said to be able to speak in human tongue and is rather talkative. Them rowdy boys back in Taniyama would brag about how it spoke to them and asks them questions— _and_ if they answered incorrectly, it would send hot winds their way!"

"Well, I've never encountered that sort of thing before… But suppose if that were true, wouldn't it make the _Aosagi_ a weapon more fitted for Konoha's use—it being made out of fire and all?"

It was the doctor who sighs this time. "That maybe part of what runs the rumour on their involvement in this war. Apparently, there are writings in the Fire Temple about a mysterious fiery bird that was often mistaken as the Phoenix, Hō-Ōh… It was the guardian constellation of the South: of Hydra, Gemini, Cancer and Corvus to name a few—but it seems its _real_ name has slipped past my mind! Anyway, this large bird creature was said to have mysteriously disappeared after splitting itself into two parts of yin and yang with its full form elusive until those parts will be infused once again."

"Then that would mean—"

" _Aosagi_ is only half a puzzle piece of Bijū. Most likely, to find its other half, nations will go to war once again."

"Power. That's all they really ever sought for and for _peace_ they said."

That pause brings a good silence to them; it settles their minds for a bit and creates an opportunity for Ranko to change the subject, as she naturally intended. All these talks of Bijūs and whatnot really rattles her nerves.

"S-so what about what happens in the city?" she finally speaks to the doctor, slowly and patiently as if her words would disappear before his ears would catch them.

"Oh, many things!" Dr Kyohei shakes his head as he speaks, "Among other things, Kusa has declared to get _all abled hands_ on deck for this war. To answer your earlier question, Jun, Taniyama hasn't yet yield to Kusa's movement… but most of our village folk have. They have moved into the city to better protect themselves and their status as citizens of Kusagakure.

"And please allow me to reiterate this: you need to make a certain move in order for you to be able to decide on Momoko's future. At this moment, her Fate lies in your hands. She needs to be with her peers and gather in great numbers—I assure you, there is safety in it. But the timing is absolutely crucial! We don't know how long Konoha can keep up its toes with Hanzo or if at all!"

Jun sighs this time, a whole lot longer and deeper than the doctor's earlier. "I am aware of how crucial the timing will be, but I'm afraid the prospects of separating with Momoko. No doubt she'll be much safer with kids her age, going about their days at the Academy, but how long can that really guarantee her safety? What if Iwa or Ame were to occupy our lands and hold us hostage against Konoha?"

"Yes, that is a valid concern indeed."

"I simply cannot decide so soon, especially considering her current condition."

"It is because of her current condition that I press so urgently for your decision!"

Ranko raises her hand this time before her husband could speak. "You said Kusa has called on for _abled hands_ … Tell me more about what happens in Taniyama. Are the Atsudas going to do what they intend to do?"

"You mean, if they are going off with their children anyway?"

"Yes, especially Emiko."

"Of course especially _with_ Emiko! As a special needs child, she needs to always be monitored—it doesn't ease their suffering any bit than necessary, but alas, war is a desperate time seeking desperate measures!"

She pales at that. "How could they expect Emiko to do anything at all?"

"Well, they _hope_ she could do something! Anything's better than doing nothing, I suppose…"

"If I were younger," Jun speaks up again this time and sits before the doctor, taking his own drink into his hand; he swirls his cup for a bit before speaking, "and less _this_ injury of mine, going all hands on deck isn't that much of a problem… I would've gladly joined the War."

The doctor nods quietly at that.

"But I am not getting any younger _and_ my old wounds are not getting any better… so Momoko's only chance indeed lies in my disabled hands. I heed your warnings, Dr Kyohei, but I'm not able to make a decision at this instance. I'm afraid I believe that delicacy in her current condition should be resolved first before she decides to gather in Kusa's main city."

"May I at least suggest one thing, then?" Dr Kyohei raises a finger and the couple nods together. "At least take her to Taniyama in the next few days… let her get used to what she has been doing so far and let that jog her memory! Even if it may be an unconscious tour of her physical surroundings, but perhaps that will help her more than leaving her _caved_ in here!"

"I'll consider that, definitely! As you've said, war is coming and our stocks are running low here, so I will need to be in Taniyama soon to resupply."

The doctor looks glad at that point, but he clears his throat, "Well, there's _one_ other reason why I need you need to bring Momoko to Taniyama…"

"Oh?"

"You see, around the same time Momoko was drowning in the river, we found a boy around the same age as she in Taniyama. He nearly drowned too! He had ash brown hair and amber eyes—strange-looking boy! Mumbling about _Ueno Park_ and an _earthquake_. It was funny because he claims to have been with a girl before he appeared… I was wondering if you would know the boy."

Ranko turns as white as a sheet of paper by this time; sweat begins to bead down her brows as she listens in and she turns to her husband ever so slightly that the doctor never truly noticed. He thought she was still worried about Momoko's condition and just didn't think much of _that_ look. But in truth, this coincidence brings about a different concern within her mind—much worse than even the news of war!

"A boy, huh? Ash brown hair and amber eyes, you said?" Her husband prodded on without as much batting an eyelash.

"Nearly as amber as Momoko's, too! He calls himself… Gah, what was the name again? It was a strange name…"

Jun gulps down a worried thought.

"Ah, that's right! He calls himself _Nagori Hojo_."

 _Remains, relics, the sorrow of parting; assistance, subsidiary, supplement._

"Strange name indeed," the doctor doesn't catch the way Jun gulps again and how sweat begins to drip down his brows, too.

"Well, I was hoping if any of you actually knew him… since he mentioned your name, after all!"

"But you said he mentioned _Ueno park_?"

"We figured you were the only Uenos we know that had land enough to be called a park… Maybe he was confused given that he nearly drowned?"

"No, unfortunately, we don't know any Nagori Hojo… but you're right, I should get a rain check on dropping by in Taniyama with Momoko and help jog her memories. At the moment, that is the best next step I can figure out for now!"

The doctor can sense that this was his cue to leave indeed. "Yes, I suppose preserving her mental state of mind is important," he says this after he finishes his drink and gets up, "But well, as I've said, all hands are on deck—even that strange boy has been dragged in! Taniyama is holding back one bit for this war effort!"

Jun gets up as well and nods. "Duly noted!"

"T-thank you for s-stopping by," Ranko greets the doctor as she stands as well; she covers her stuttering by nearly stumbling on her feet, effectively making herself look clumsy and tired. "And t-thanks for the herbal potions, too!"

"Least I could do, Ranko," Dr Kyohei nods at her.

"We wouldn't want to keep you any longer," as Jun opens the door, the fresh air makes him stop in his tracks for a bit and then he realises that Momoko was out there by herself. "I should go and fetch Momoko before she gets herself in trouble again!"

The doctor laughs nervously at that. "Of course, understandably. We wouldn't want to get her mixed up in all this _Aosagi_ talk."

"Of course not!"

"What's the likelihood of it being attracted to her anyway, right?"

The doctor momentarily spaces off. "Well, she does have those moles on her jaw… They looked like the Hydra constellation."

By this time, Jun precedes to walk ahead of him as if he didn't hear that mumbling. But he heard it alright as clear as the day itself. He just watches as the doctor takes out a straw hat and putting it on before passing by him. Then he gives them the gentlest of nods before leaving.

"I'm off now," Dr Kyohei greets them one last time. "I hope we get to see each other again soon and I wish you the best of luck for Momoko's condition. Once again, hope you get to stop by in Taniyama—do stop by at my shop when you do!"

Jun nods back. "Of course, that goes without saying! Farewell! Do be careful on your way back!"

"Yes, thank you! And thanks for the tea, Ranko!"

Jun's wife simply waves goodbye at him from the doorway.

As soon as he was out of earshot, she paces forward as if she were a floating wraith and clutches onto her husband's arms.

"Jun, did you hear what he said!? A boy came with _her_?" She looks as if she had seen a ghost.

Jun was calmer than she expected. He gently hushes her and pats her head, "Calm down, Ranko!"

"He said _Ueno park_! He said _earthquake_!"

"Ranko, calm yourselves for God's sake!"

She fell to the ground by this time, distraught and frightened. "Then that means… that means…"

"She died in a natural disaster, yes."

"And the boy?"

"Most probably died with her. If they died together, it is most likely he is more aware of his death than she does—considering he _actually_ remembers how he died and who died with! Probably why he named himself _Nagori Hojo_ too!"

"What're we going to do then?"

"We'll have to make do with what we have as always, darling. It isn't going to be easy for any of us from this point forward and that boy… I will definitely have to check things out with him. It doesn't help that these weird creatures are popping up and about. Something tells me all of this has everything to do Momoko and the boy…"

"Then Momoko will—"

"Yup, it looks like her path is set. She's going to have to be a ninja. This is what has been decided and that goes far beyond our control you know, these things."

Ranko looks away and wipes a silent tear that drips from one of her eyes; she nods frantically before she gets picked up by her husband. With her feet all wobbly, she nearly fell back to the ground.

"I'll go and fetch her back," Jun assures her and rubs the sides of her shoulders. "Everything's going to be alright, I promise."

But she couldn't say anything.

She just stands there and watches as he goes off to find their grandchild. Her chest tightens and her throat dries; the terrible pain of knowing how short life can be and how soon it can end really dampens one's spirit. But it's much scarier when the ending to life is obvious and unchangeable—that's what has flooded her mind at that point.

Will Momoko's life ends up going down the drain as the oncoming war wages? Or will she somehow manage to scrape and keep her life until she finally regains her previous consciousness?

Only time will tell—but alas, time for Ranko and Jun is slipping on the horizon like the dipping sun as dusk takes over the day.

 _That_ is what Ranko fears most at this point; having only welcomed her favourite grandchild, but only now realising their time – as it had been before – will soon be shortlifted by Fate again. She couldn't bear to part with the same child _twice_ and tears still roll down her cheeks for that.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hey, sorry for the late update! I was kind of caught up with the plot holes in Naruto (and Boruto!) so I had to take some time off writing this and get my plot sorted out a bit. I finally got the time setting in my head (might have to adjust certain things) and hey! MOMOKO DIDN'T FALL INTO THE GROUND ALONE, REMEMBER? I wanted to make things interested by adding another OC. :)

Now I don't know what needs to be edited in the previous chapters, but I may only edit them once I updated the next chapter (back to Momoko's POV). There will be Bonus Chapters like this in future to add in the suspense. lolz

Hope you enjoyed this! I certainly enjoyed your reviews! Thanks for your loyalty! TT_TT


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